


cut straight to the heart

by renvember



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, M/M, Minor Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26819947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renvember/pseuds/renvember
Summary: Byleth hears movement before she sees it, whipping around to the source of the noise with her sword drawn but–It’s Edelgard.Dark spots of color on the edges of her eyes, looking almost as if she was crying dark pigment. Her brilliant white hair is smudged with soot, blood, and Goddess knows what else.Her armor is a dull red, made even more muted by the splashes of dried blood across it. She can tell the metal was forged to be bright, but surrounded by the dying light of Garreg Mach and the gore smudged all over, it’s only dark and dreary.Edelgard barks out a noise when she sees Byleth, voice hoarse and cold. She’s sharp around the edges with a piercing look about her, and Byleth is almost afraid of spooking her like a feral animal. Her hand is on her axe (which Byleth realizes suddenly is as red as her clothes), but she falters, then relaxes with the realization.“My teacher,” she smiles, full of relief. “Oh thank the Goddess, I must finally be dead.”
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 143





	1. cut straight to the heart

**Author's Note:**

> thinked about girls for too long again lads
> 
> this is basically crimson flower but with a lot of azure moon elements. or as we have dubbed it, feral el au
> 
> also i have played exactly one (1) chapter of post ts am before getting bored (sorry dimitri) so most of this is just a mix of vw/cf + what i've picked up from am plot via osmosis. happy ending because i simply do not vibe with an unhappy ending. title is from "pretty little things" by the crane wives!

“There’s a monster,” the farmer says to Byleth, who is still rubbing away sleep from her eyes, “Out on the top of the mountain. In the old Monastery, they say. Keeps the bandits far from here, that's all I know for sure,” he laughs. “Well, at least it will until the Church gets back.”

Byleth looks up at the shadow that the ruined Garreg Mach leaves on the valley and frowns. She doesn't respond to the man, who stumbles over a rushed good-bye as Byleth decides to march up the hill. 

The further up she climbs, the more few and far between travelers she comes across. Until eventually, she is scaling the mountain by her lonesome. The paths aren’t nearly as distinct anymore, with foliage covering all but the bare minimum of the dirt path. She isn’t sure she would be able to make it back up without knowing the way.

Garreg Mach is suspiciously empty, which Byleth puzzles over as she passes the first ruins. She remembers winning this battle. If the Empire was forced to abandon the monastery, wouldn’t there surely be more signs of a more recent struggle? She ghosts her hand over the dust on the crumbling wall and it comes back powdery gray. The wind blows by, trying to pick it up and run, but most of it stays on her glove. She shakes her hand out and rubs what’s left of the mess on the side of her armor. Byleth realizes, then, that with the wind, the smell of death followed. She narrows her eyes and hurries further up.

Finally, she finds her first sign of life. It certainly isn’t fresh, though. There are two scavenged benches (both only slightly singed) across from a fire. The wood is old and wet, and the ash seems to have washed away. Their satchels are torn apart across the makeshift camp, with nothing of value left behind. But most notably, a halfway polished breastplate is leaned against one bench, with greaves stacked underneath. 

All Knights of Seiros standard corp armor. 

She draws her sword and continues forward. The first body is behind the corner, barely even hidden. His chest is cleaved apart, either with a claw or an axe. And by now, maggots and other harvesters have had their meal. It’s not pretty, or a clean job. Dried blood trails further ahead to another one, met with a similar fate. 

She finds the one missing his chestplate last, deep into the Cathedral. He looks the least human by now, brutalized into nothing more than a mess of blood and carnage across the cracked stone flooring. If the legs weren’t still intact, she might not have known it was anything in the first place. 

Byleth hears movement before she sees it, whipping around to the source of the noise with her sword drawn but– 

It’s Edelgard. 

Dark spots of color on the edges of her eyes, looking almost as if she was crying dark pigment. Her brilliant white hair is smudged with soot, blood, and Goddess knows what else. 

Her armor is a dull red, made even more muted by the splashes of dried blood across it. She can tell the metal was forged to be bright, but surrounded by the dying light of Garreg Mach and the gore smudged all over, it’s only dark and dreary. 

Edelgard barks out a noise when she sees Byleth, voice hoarse and cold. She’s sharp around the edges with a piercing look about her, and Byleth is almost afraid of spooking her like a feral animal. Her hand is on her axe (which Byleth realizes suddenly is as red as her clothes), but she falters, then _relaxes_ with realization.

“My teacher,” she smiles, full of relief. “Oh thank the Goddess, I must finally be dead.”

Byleth drops her sword, the loud _clang_ of it hitting the ground registering before the realization she lost her grip on the hilt. 

“Edelgard,” she says softly, stepping forward. “I’m…” Edelgard meets her in the middle and Byleth can't help but wrap her arms around her, to lean down and mumble words into her hair. “Hello.”

“They’ll leave me now, won't they?” Edelgard’s voice comes out soft, but only because of the strain of being obviously unused. She pulls back. “I suppose I shouldn't worry. Thank you for being here. With me. For the end of the journey.”

“Edelgard,” Byleth repeats. “You're not dead. Look,” she holds up Edelgard’s gloved hand, fingers over her pulse. “A heartbeat. You’re alive. I'm alive and you're alive. What’s happened? Why is everything–”

Edelgard shoves her away. “ _What?_ No, I– I can't keep doing this. Not for much longer. I’ve– Shut _up!_ ” she shouts to no one and nothing. “I can’t go back! I won’t!”

“Edelgard!” She fumbles trying to think of what to say, “It’s okay, no one’s making you do anything!” She reaches for Edelgard but a burst of fiery magic pulses with her major crest, forcing her back. 

Byleth braces her stance and tries again. Her hands sting under the gloves, but she’s able to force herself through. Magic tingles around her, clinging to her armor and searing the ends of fabric, but she ignores it to grab Edelgard by the sides of her head to force her still. 

Her eyes are still a brilliant and cold lavender. The skin is peeled back under her eyelids, revealing dark scales streaked below her eyelashes.

Edelgard doesn’t speak at first, but the storm of magic around them calms and settles. 

“You need to leave,” she says quietly, eyes cast on the floor. 

“I,” Byleth decides, though it was never really a question, “Am not going anywhere.”

Edelgard doesn’t argue but keeps her distance over the evening.

Byleth starts a campfire with kindling she scrounges up from the dormitories (no one will really need the full volume set of _A Guide of Integrated Combat of Brawling and Faith Magic,_ will they? Actually, someone might, so she leaves one or two), and goes to search the stall by the pond for any fishing rods left behind. 

Unfortunately, everything high-quality was taken and anything less has decayed with time. Piercing fish with her sword would be too inefficient, so she resolves to wade into the shallows and wait for the fish to grow accustomed to her shadow before frying them with thunder magic. It feels sacrilegious, but she can make the sacrifice. 

She leaves them to roast over the fire, stripping off her boots and leggings to dry off as well. Edelgard is still kneeling, hunched over nearby, and doesn’t comment. She doesn’t even look up, which is more concerning than anything. 

Byleth frowns, and when the fish are cooked well enough, she offers some to her. Edelgard ignores her at first, but Byleth can’t take her eyes off the barely visible boney shoulders under the armor, and stays resolute until Edelgard takes it. Byleth stays crouched next to her to make sure she eats fully, and when she is finally satisfied she digs into her own meal. 

It’s not hard falling asleep, it never has been for Byleth. But she's always quick to wake up when anything stirs. During the night, she blinks awake a few times as rats and other small creatures skirt around the edge of their campsite. Edelgard is still there, kneeling by the dying tinder of the fire, so Byleth goes back to sleep.

* * *

When Byleth awakens early the next morning, Edelgard is gone. With that realization, she immediately jumps up and shoves her boots back on, sword drawn. 

The monastery is as quiet as the day before. The Cathedral is empty, but when Byleth ventures closer to the Officer’s Academy, she can hear someone yelling from the floors above. She sheathes her sword to sprint up the stairs, briefly checking the office floor for any presence, but it’s empty. She has no choice but to force her way further up, but when she makes it to the room to Rhea’s quarters, the door has already been cleaved open. 

Rhea’s chamber is completely wrecked. An axe has been driven through the four-poster bed many times over, slashing through the fine woodwork. Papers with delicate cursive writing are crumpled and ripped from the desk, and the closet has been thrown open to tear through any clothes left inside, left with only ripped shreds of silk and light cloth. 

Edelgard is standing bent over the balcony, chest heaving as she breathes in and out.

Only a portion of the damage looks recent. She briefly wonders how often Edelgard has come up here. 

Byleth knocks thrice on the solid wood door. At first glance, she thinks Edelgard is ignoring her, but then she realizes that she's mumbling under her breath. No words Byleth can catch. Not from this far away, at least. 

“Edelgard?” Byleth says quietly. Immediately Edelgard whips around to face her, axe drawn and ready. Byleth expects Edelgard to stop, but she doesn't, marching forward until her axe is aimed at Byleth’s throat.

“You need to _leave_ ,” Edelgard spits out.

“You would have to kill me,” Byleth replies easily, not moving. Because where else could she go? Her only family is dead, Sothis long gone, and the only remnant of her students is here, an angry wraith hiding behind Garreg Mach’s crumbling walls. 

Her eyes harden, and for a moment, Byleth almost believes she will. But she pulls her axe away. 

“Leave me alone,” she says quietly. “If you're not here to finish me off, just leave me alone.”

Byleth looks over her head, at the sun rising through the cracked windows. It’s well past breakfast time. “You still need to eat.”

Edelgard eyes reignite with fury, but her body is too weak to act on it. Byleth isn't sure how long Edelgard would need to be up here to be that tired. 

“There is fish back at the camp,” she almost reaches to grab Edelgard’s hand but thinks better of it. She nods instead. “C’mon.”

Edelgard finally acquiesces, following behind. Byleth checks every few steps to make sure she's still there, slowing to match her pace. They sit on opposite sides of the campfire this morning once again.

Edelgard doesn’t start eating immediately, but when she takes the first bite, she tears into flesh, with a certain disregard Byleth couldn’t have imagined she possessed (at least not before). Byleth eats her own meal slower, savoring the charred fish as best as she can. She will need to go fishing again soon if she plans to feed both of them. 

Edelgard stands up. Her face looks fuller than before, the pointed rage dulled for just a moment. That’s enough for Byleth, so she lets her leave without a word. 

Byleth doesn't think she would tire of eating only fish for the foreseeable future but she knows her body would. So she spends the afternoon rooting through the greenhouse. The better parts of it, anyway. The glass is shattered and some of the plants have seized through the wall, sprouting over the stone path outside and beyond. She recognized the flowers she asked to be planted before everything, so that must mean that some of the edible things could be lurking deep in there. 

She rolls up her sleeves and gets to work. 

Byleth isn't terrible at cooking, but as she roots through the overgrown pitcher plants, she is reminded of Bernadetta. She misses Bernadetta’s gentle guidance while they worked together, preparing a treat for the rest of the house before their monthly mission.

Maybe if she can find something appropriate, she can try to recreate something like that for her and Edelgard. She would need to find some cooking utensils though, so she makes a note to check the dining hall later. 

She finds a variety of Western Fódlanese herbs but, most notably, there's a cluster of Morfis Plum shoots hidden under a bush of bright flowers. She can work with that. And the fruit is plump and full, she doesn't think any bugs have gotten to it either (a small miracle, this far from civilization). 

On her way back to their camp, Byleth skirts past the dormitories to avoid looking at the damaged Officer’s Academy. Both directions are painful to walk down. There's a small lingering expectation that one of her students will pop out from behind a corner with a new request. But every time the only thing that greets her is another crumbling wall.

At the end of the dormitories, she stops. She stares down the door to her personal room, molded and rotten, almost expecting it to lash out. But it sits there, as useless a door as ever. It barely hides her room behind it. On the windowsill sits the shriveled remains of some chrysanthemums, rusted swords lean on the wall, and at her desk papers and books lay open to bare open their contents to the world. 

She doesn't know why she stands outside the room peering in when she can just push the door open, so she does. The hinges badly protest but there’s little resistance. Inside, it's even more clear that she was not the last person in here. Her belongings have been picked through a couple times over (by the Black Eagles, the Church, then some bandits? She's not sure in what order, but with the mess, it seems likely), with all the drawers forced open and what’s left of her things thoroughly rifled through. 

Byleth opens the pack at her side and pulls out her father’s diary. There are parts in there she has committed to memory, but in equal measure, she’s flipped over half the book. It comforts her, having some control over what she knows and does not know about her father. Either way, it's safe with her. No bandits or soldiers have made off with it. She rubs a finger over the worn leather before hiding it away again. 

Byleth isn't sure if she wants to assume the worst of her other students yet. Being proved right would hurt, cleave into her chest in the worst ways possible. She’s tried asking Edelgard, to no avail. She's tried asking Edelgard a lot of things, with minimal answers. 

She doubts she’ll find any answers for what’s happened here since she… left? It’s still unclear. This almost feels like an ugly dream, something she’s yet to wake up from. She eyes the rotten furniture and moldy cloth, halfway expecting to blink awake at any moment. Still, nothing happens. She heads back to camp. 

Edelgard isn’t here, but Byleth doesn’t think she expected her to be. Someone evidently made off with more of the fish though, so she might have to go back out to catch some more. it’s good to know that in whatever dark spiral Edelgard is in, at least she has eaten. If that is the most help Byleth can give her right now, so be it. 

With nothing better to do, Byleth goes back out to the fishing pond to catch something new. She makes a game of it, trying to at least catch a silverfish lurking in the shallows. She feels spent after, almost entirely drained of magic, but it’s like a sore muscle after a long march. Not too bad, and made even better after her haul. She passes by the dormitories again and this time she does not look back. 

“Edelgard,” she greets as she sets a small bundle on the ground. Byleth does not ask where she’s been and Edelgard does not answer. Instead, she says, “Can you light the fire for me?”

Edelgard’s eyes flash, but she pulls out a hand from under her red cloak without comment. The glove is charred and ripped at the hands, but she pays it no mind. Magic swirls and collects at her fingertips and with a loud _snap_ the fire sparks to life. She buries her hands back under her cloak and shrinks back in on herself. She is impossibly both big and small in that moment, as tiny as ever and sitting with her knees pulled up against her and her armored grieves jutting out awkwardly. But all the empty space without her is cast out in a massive shadow, stretching out onto the rubble behind them. 

Byleth guts the fish and spears them through with sticks to set them over the fire to roast. Parts of the flesh come out charred, but it isn’t that bad, all things considered. She can stomach it and Edelgard eats without complaint. Loathe as she is to say it, but she thinks the Monastery staff had spoiled her with their cooking expertise. Having a fully functional kitchen and hands to work it was a luxury she misses dearly. 

She hopes they are all okay. 

Edelgard starts mumbling again, yanking Byleth out of her reminiscing and back into the present. “I’ll rip out her heart. Would you be happy then?”

Byleth doesn’t think for a second those words are intended for her, based on everything she’s seen so far, but she can’t help but listen.

“And they’ll follow, like they always do.”

Byleth wracks her brain trying to make sense of Edelgard’s ramblings. Who is she talking about? Rhea, the Knights? Solon, Kronya, and their clan of those who’ve hurt them? But there’s nothing else substantial as Edelgard drops her head on her knees, voice softening and muffled by her clothes. 

* * *

Byleth tucks in even later that night, staring up at the sky long after the last of the campfire’s smoke has gone out. When she finally falls asleep, it’s dreamless and quick, and too early does the sun rise on a brand new day. 

Today, she resolves, will be dedicated to scrounging up more materials around the Monastery, to at least find something of use. She isn’t sure if she could leave Edelgard alone up here, even to only spend a day sifting through the nearest market place. 

Most necessary, in her eyes at least, is to check the kitchen for anything functional. If any of the wood-burning ovens still worked, she could… Well, Byleth isn’t sure of everything a wood-burning oven can do. Maybe her next step will be researching that. 

All of the fine steel-grade cookware has been taken, but she's able to turn up some copper pans from the back of the cabinet. With some hard work combined with magic, Byleth figures out how to wipe off the nasty bits of patina. 

She’s just walking out of the dilapidated dining hall when she realizes she hears a horse galloping, the noise growing rapidly louder as it gets closer. Byleth ducks behind a wall immediately, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“ –as far as we can go on horseback,” the sound of someone swinging off a saddle. The voice sounds years more tired but all too familiar. It couldn’t be… “You’re welcome to stay on, I think I'm going to only lead her from here. No sense in leaving her behind at least.”

“No, I could use the chance to stretch my legs, “ she hears in reply. 

Byleth draws her sword, holding her back against the wall so she’s ready to jump out and have the element of surprise. There’s the heavy sound of rubber soles hitting the ground, followed by the shuffling of hooves as they start moving again. As soon as they’re in range, she tightens her grip on her sword and strikes. 

She’s so focused on the man with orange hair she almost misses the brunette behind him (someone with a more familiar face), but she realizes with a startling jolt that behind him is _Dorothea_ so that must mean– 

“Professor?!” Ferdinand gasps, jumping backward to dodge her blade. His horse startles, sharply pulling him away, but he must have had a lot more practice with cavalry to be able to hold the bridle still and stand his ground. “What are you… I mean–”

He looks older now. More drained and tired, with worry lines across his face. His hair is grown out longer and tied up with ribbon, but it looks somewhat neglected. He's wearing riding pants and is lightly armored, with unassuming leather pieces protecting his vitals. And over his shoulders, the House Aegir Ochain Shield glows eerily in the full summer light. Dorothea looks older now as well. She isn't wearing a dress or her hat, which is a shock on its own. She's also dressed lightly, in slim dark pants and a white cotton blouse. Her hair is braided up to tuck right over the base of her neck.

Dorothea stares at her from behind Ferdinand. “Goddess, we thought you were _dead._ How are you here now?”

“I don't know,” she says honestly. But finally, _finally,_ she might be able to get some answers. “Why did you think I was dead? What happened to the monastery?”

“Professor, I…”

Ferdinand cuts in. “What’s the last thing you remember?

“Before now?” she frowns. “The Garreg Mach raid, I think. At the end of the school year. I took a blow then I woke up in the valley.”

“It’s been… about five years since then,” Ferdinand says. “And _a lot_ has happened, Professor.”

Dorothea smiles, but it’s something bitter that doesn't reach her eyes. “You might want to sit down for this.” 

In line with Byleth’s better judgment, she assumes this is not a conversation they want Edelgard here for. 

“Things started going downhill after we took Garreg Mach,” Ferdinand explains. “We… thought we lost you there. Edelgard spiraled as things went on. We pushed the Church back to the Kingdom initially, but we were rapidly losing territory. The Knights of Seiros ran us out of Garreg Mach and once they could, they stormed right through into Empire territory,” he pushes his bangs out of his eyes and fiddles with the bow keeping his hair in place. “Things didn't improve after that. Before long, we were forced back to Enbarr.”

Dorothea loops her hand across his shoulders and rubs his back. “The Church won, to put it simply,” she says. “They’ve been hunting down all imperial loyalists, and the Archbishop has her eyes on the old Black Eagles.”

Ferdinand nods. “And we were prepared to fight for our lives there. Our last stand. We lost Randolph and Ladislava,” he smiles bitterly but his eyes reflect only grief. “The Archbishop ordered a public execution of Edelgard, as a reminder to never stray from the light of the Goddess. Hubert and I spent weeks trying to find a way to get her out of there. We figured out a route, but the day of the execution…”

Hubert would have never let this happen to Edelgard, Byleth realizes with a jolt. Never in a millennia. “Where is he?” 

Dorothea looks away and something seizes Ferdinand, the waves of emotion choking him up for a moment. “He’s… gone. We were in contact, trying to get Edelgard out of there. One day he just simply… stopped replying to my letters. I assumed the worst, and when I went looking for it… ” he shakes his head. “I've been playing nice with the Knights ever since. But it’s only a matter of time before they come after me next. Rhea will gut the Empire clean to prevent another insurgence.”

Gone. Hubert’s dead. They weren’t always on the best of terms, but Byleth would never wish death on him. It puts so much into perspective. The gravity of everything, heavy and bearing down on all the Church has left of them.

Dorothea wipes her eyes and looks away. “It’s about the same for me, too. I have nowhere to go in the Empire. The only way to survive would be to endanger those trying to protect me. This was my choice. I’m too weak, I suppose, or too cowardly, to stay in Enbarr. To face Rhea directly. This is it for me.”

Byleth cocks her head. It sounds logical, not cowardly. “Is that why you're here? To escape it?”

“The reunion and…” he looks pained for a moment before his eyes harden to resolute. “I heard rumors that Edelgard was here. And there’s only so long until the Church reclaims the Monastery. We don't have time.”

“So you've come back to find Edelgard.”

He nods, resolute. “It’s our last shot. If we can rally the remainder of the Empire loyalists, we might be able to pull out of this. At the very least, we have more political leverage to appeal to the Alliance. If you’ve heard _anything_ , Professor–”

“No, don't worry,” Byleth says. “She's here.”

They both freeze, stopping so suddenly Byleth isn't sure they’re breathing. 

“But she’s… not in the condition you’d expect. She’s different. Changed.” 

“Professor,” He says, with so much genuine sincerity it’s almost painful. “Just seeing her alive would be a relief in and of itself.”

“Absolutely,” Dorothea agrees. “If she’s alive, I… I need to see her.” 

Byleth hopes they can take it. As she leads them to the Cathedral (avoiding the gore and bodies on the west side of the Monastery), she mulls over everything as Ferdinand and Dorothea talk softly between themselves. Now that she knows, she’s sure that whatever happened in the space between Hubert’s death and Edelgard’s escape is the crux of whatever demons Edelgard kicks away by her heels. 

Byleth pulls the pans out of her bag and sets them down by the fire. The sky is starting to darken and the clouds are pulling apart, like cotton on a spindle. She’s glad it hasn’t rained yet, she’s not sure which parts of the Monastery are structurally sound enough to protect them from a summer rainstorm.

“She might not know you’re even here,” Byleth says. “We may be waiting till dusk.”

If either of them finds that odd, they don't show it. A well of anxiety floods them both, old tics springing up. Dorothea unfurls her braid and runs her fingers through her hair and Ferdinand bounces his leg frenetically. After a long while of silence, Ferdinand’s horse whinnies, nudging his bag with her nose. He acquiesces and digs around until he pulls out a well-bruised apple. The horse doesn’t care though, taking a bite and deciding to snatch it out of his hands. Ferdinand doesn’t seem to mind too much, smiling and petting her mane. 

Dorothea turns to Byleth, “Let me ask the real question, did you fish up everything here on your lonesome? I can’t imagine Edelgard has improved her technique enough to be of much help.”

Small talk is a good way to disarm the rising tension and anticipation around the campfire. Byleth nods and snaps her fingers, a spark of electricity dancing across her knuckles. “No rods. Had to improvise.”

Even Ferdinand startles out a laugh, joining in with Dorothea. “I mean–”

He blinks, balking at Byleth. Or what’s _behind_ Byleth. 

She turns around and greets. “Edelgard.”

Both Dorothea and Ferdinand jump up to attention immediately, and for a moment Byleth thinks they might salute, maybe even _bow_.

Edelgard grips the hilt of her axe, staring both of them down. 

A whole mess of emotions blur over both of their faces. Excitement, elated joy, realization, grief. Edelgard doesn’t reveal any emotion at all, besides her eyes sharpening as she takes in the two of them sitting across the campfire. “Why are you here?”

“Edie,” Dorothea holds her hand over her mouth to swallow down a muffled cry, “What did they do to you, darling?”

She doesn’t answer. “Are you both working for Rhea now? Is that what this is?”

“Edelgard, I…” Ferdinand has collected himself enough to look genuinely disgusted. “Of course not. I haven’t seen you in over a year! What’s happened? How could…” 

He shakes his head and steps forward, reaching out. Even though they’re on opposite sides of the camp, she moves backward with him, as if to not give him an inch of space. He looks heartbroken. 

He recollects himself, drawing back and leaning back against his horse. “Now’s not the time, we need to leave the monastery. The Church has already mobilized its initial forces to prepare Garreg Mach to be restored. We have to leave, the sooner the better.”

Edelgard tilts her head, the light from the campfire defining her sharp features from below. “She’s coming, isn't she,” she doesn't phrase it as a question. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Edelgard, we _have_ to,” he turns to Byleth. “You understand, don’t you, Professor? She’ll die. We’ll all die.”

Not for the first time, Byleth feels incredibly out of her depth. But she agrees with Ferdinand, there’s not much left behind to warrant anything but a strategic retreat. Being on the run is better than dead. She’s seen the carnage Edelgard can unleash, but four against an innumerable amount of Knights of Seiros isn’t favorable, in any circumstance. “I’m still not clear on the details, but we’re not equipped for heavy battle. It would be wise to retreat.”

Edelgard ignores their council entirely, hand unmoving over her axe hilt. 

That seems to settle it for everyone. Ferdinand and Dorothea look away, eyes trained on the cracked stone flooring. 

Byleth does not want to be at ends with both sides. She doesn’t want to leave Edelgard behind, but she doesn’t want to abandon Ferdinand and Dorothea either. “What do you want to do?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” Dorothea says, a dry bitterness behind it. She looks back up at Edelgard’s shadow, “For the revolution, my Flame Emperor.”

Ferdinand sits down, shoulders hunched. “I can’t return to Enbarr after this stunt. Not that I want to,” he shakes his head, all the fight in him drained dry. “Whatever, then. We’ll have to do all we can here, I suppose. And pray that we can find some more Empire loyalists.”

It is a heavy death sentence, but no one there can find it in themselves to resist. 

* * *

Everyone eats little that night, and Edelgard takes her skewered fish and absconds to some dark corner of the monastery. 

Byleth and Ferdinand talk strategy minutely. They agree on watch shifts during the day and night. They don't have much, so preventing any element of surprise is really all they can do in preparation. They can check the monastery for any weapons as well (maybe the stationary flame orb is still usable? The ballista intact?).

In the morning, Dorothea and Ferdinand pair off to go investigate their own dorms and the training grounds for scavengables. Byleth makes her way up to one of the taller towers of Garreg Mach, over the gate on the main road, just outside of town. She concentrates on pulsing out white magic while she waits. Not much sense in physically training, she doesn't want to batter someone up in combat. She figures being able to heal will have to be enough, she just needs to get more practice in. 

She's so focused that she almost doesn't notice the figure darting along the treeline. Human, small and lithe. Conscious enough of their surroundings to be tactical about their approach.

Byleth sends up a flare of fire magic to alert the others and climbs down the battlement. She swings quickly between stairs and ladders, just fast enough to make it above the grated gate in time. The mechanics are too rusted to be able to close or open the damn thing, so it stays awkwardly half-way lowered. 

She draws her sword and waits under the low barrier atop the wall.

They don't keep her waiting for too long. 

The sound is quiet enough that Byleth isn’t sure she would have heard it if she wasn’t listening for it, the muffled shuffling as someone quietly and deftly scales the exterior wall. It’s a well-practiced motion, distinct enough that the assailant is likely trained. She curses internally, but it isn’t much of a surprise. At the least, they can extort them for information.

She lunges as soon as they throw themself over the wall. The Sword of the Creator alights at her call, splitting into vertebrae and slashing at the figure. They jump backward and dance around the whip.

They pause for a half-second, and normally Byleth would use the opportunity against them but– 

She looks at them.

They look at her.

“Professor..?” Petra asks softly.

She runs at her again and this time Byleth doesn’t try to fend her off. 

Petra clasps both hands on Byleth’s face, violently jerking Byleth’s chin around to gauge something Byleth can’t fathom, but she’s too elated to see her again to mind too much. When Petra’s done, she pulls back to meet Byleth's gaze again. 

“Not like Monica…” She smiles genuinely. “You’re back. Truly!”

Byleth lets herself smile back. “Yes. Hopefully for good.”

She laughs, leaning forward and knocking both of their foreheads together. They both startle backward, but Petra laughs and Byleth grins, full and bright. 

“I can’t believe… Professor, you do not understand how long I have been wanting to see you again. Are the other Black Eagles…”

Byleth nods. “Our reunion is coming up, isn’t it? Ferdinand and Dorothea are here. So is Edelgard.”

Her eyes shine in the sunlight, “She is alive?”

“Yes,” she frowns, not sure how to phrase it. “In a way.”

Petra tilts her head curiously. “Her heart still beats?”

“Yes.”

“That is enough,” she says.

Ferdinand and Dorothea fly out of the stairwell, throwing the door open with a heavy _thud_ , weapons drawn. Ferdinand almost drops his lance and Dorothea’s burst of fire magic falters, stuttering back into nothingness. 

“Petra?!” She asks. 

“Dorothea!” she turns around. “Ferdinand!”

They all look elated to see each other. Dorothea sweeps her up into a huge, kissing the top of her forehead. Ferdinand squeezes her shoulder, then turns to Byleth, a silent exchange between them both.

Petra is a valuable asset, a _beast_ on the battlefield. 

She can tell just from a glance that Ferdinand prays with her that Petra chooses not to stay. 

“Are you here to fight with us?” he asks timidly. 

“My sword is yours,” she says, smiling. “It would be an honor to be fighting with you all again.”

He frowns. “You should… see Edelgard before you make the commitment, okay?” 

“That is the second time you are warning me,” she brushes back her hair, “Is she sick?”

“It’s difficult too–”

“She has her demons,” Byleth cuts in. “From the beginning of the war. Her childhood.” They’ve just finally reared their ugly head, she doesn’t say.

“If it will be a comfort to you, I will meet with her first,” she says decisively. 

“That’s all I ask,” then he turns to Byleth and nods his head to the door. “I’ll keep watch, you should take her back to camp.”

* * *

Byleth leads them to the back end of the monastery, Dorothea and Petra a couple steps behind. Dorothea’s laced her fingers between Petra’s, and Byleth isn’t clear on _that_ development, so she’s resolved to pretend not to notice. She avoids the original Knights of Seiros camp again, veering around the main hall and past the training grounds.

Today, it seems Edelgard stayed in the back of the Cathedral. She’s pacing through the pews below the massive stained glass window, where the largest part of the ceiling caved in. She is a bloody, dark smear on the rubble. She doesn’t look up when they first approach, evidently muttering to herself again. 

Petra and Dorothea are dead quiet behind her, and Byleth realizes she needs to take initiative. She clears her throat. “Edelgard?”

Edelgard looks up and, for a moment, blanches at her surroundings as if she didn’t expect to look up and be in the Cathedral. But it doesn’t last long.

“More?” she hisses. “More traitors to line up at my casket?” her eyes catch on Petra, and her expression sours even further. “You spoil me, Professor.”

“Edelgard,” Petra says courteously, bowing slightly. “I would not let you die.”

She scoffs. “You already did, did you not? Do what you like. But don’t get in my way.” 

Dorothea’s eyes narrow but she says nothing. 

Petra stays carefully neutral. “I see. I am yours to command, Lady Edelgard.”

Edelgard doesn’t respond, just shoving past them to leave through the bridge, back towards the main hall. None of them protest or resist, but Byleth can feel her icy gaze even this far away. 

Petra is quiet in the silence that follows, eyes hard and calculating.

Dorothea turns around and clasps her hands together, expression bright, but her tense grip gives her away. “Let’s bring Ferdinand dinner, we can all stay up on the wall and keep watch together!” 

_Give Edelgard some space_ , she doesn’t say.

Byleth nods along. “It’s bonding. Like a group task. Petra, do you have any rations? And I hope you like fish.”

She reaches into the light pack strapped across her hips. “Only a few days worth. Cheese and hard bread. I could be of help hunting game?”

“Thank the Goddess,” Dorothea says. “There’s only so much fish I can eat. Love you to death, Professor, but you know me.”

“I won’t take it personally.”

Petra smiles. “Then I am glad to help!”

“We’ll have to try tomorrow,” Byleth looks up to the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon. Even with fire magic, the forest is dark and deadly. She doesn’t want any of them to get hurt, especially with their low numbers. Best not to risk anything. 

They both nod in agreement and follow after her. Byleth tries not to listen in to their conversation, but it’s especially difficult with the sounds of life gone, only leaving them with dull silence and the sound of water. 

“We’ve only been back for hardly a day,” Dorothea explains. “I don’t think the Professor’s been here much longer, either. We don’t know how all of this happened.”

She pulls on the edge of her blouse, but Petra puts a hand over hers. “It is not your fault. Or any of ours. And we can not fix the past.”

Dorothea relaxes, giving her a grateful smile before leaning her head on her shoulder. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“As long as I am with you, the Black Eagles, and the Professor, we will be okay,” Petra says with an unshakeable fearlessness.

Byleth casts Thoron, the thunder coming off in booming waves and strong enough to mute the two of them. 

After cooking their catch, Byleth leaves a few piked pikes (she was very pleased with that, but Petra was confused and Dorothea only laughed politely) over the cooled cinder, in case Edelgard wants it. She doesn’t bother leading them back through the shorter way this time, but Petra doesn’t comment on the bloody mess they pass.

They end up sitting on the Monastery’s outer wall, legs dangling over the edge of the drop. The road is quiet, the Sealed Forest too. The moon hangs in the sky in a slick crescent, beaming down a low light over the Monastery.

Everyone is quiet tonight. Ferdinand had smiled when they met him up here, tired but fond. Now he looks like he’s half-way asleep, even while sitting up. 

Dorothea nods. “I’ll pick up your shift. You rest, okay, Ferdie?”

He manages a smile and ducks his head, wiping sleep from his eyes. “Alright, then. Stay on your toes, though.”

“When am I not?” there’s an air of amusement in her voice, weakly hiding the burdensome reality of it all. 

“If you are wanting to be learning how to sneak, I can teach you,” Petra says. “Lockpicking too is very useful.”

“Although I would _love_ a private lesson,” Dorothea winks and smiles. “‘On your toes’ isn’t literal. Little turn of phrase. Here–”

Petra nods along and Ferdinand takes it as his cue to turn to Byleth. “How did she feel about Edelgard?”

“She went with it. Swore fealty, too. I think she’s with us for good.”

Ferdinand sighs, shoulders falling. “I suppose that’s it then. If we’re staying, we need to create some traps. And find the fire orb and ballistas,” he pauses. “We don’t have an archer, do we? Can you use a ballista, Professor?”

“Probably,” she says.

He takes it. “Great. I can work with Dorothea on the fire orb, but we’ll need the support for flier units–” He freezes, looking “Oh! I’m… uhm. My apologies.”

Byleth blinks, mystified. “For what?”

“This is…” he gestures vaguely. “Your job, isn’t it? Tactics? I must be overstepping.”

“No, you’re doing well. I can tell you’ve had much practice,” she mulls over it. It isn’t much of a shock, and she can easily fill in the gaps on why that is. “We are equals now, aren’t we? I…”

“Is something wrong?”

She has to think about, trying to do the math in her head. “Are you older than me, now?”

He falters, obviously thinking back on it. He counts out on his hand and frowns. “I… I suppose so, Professor.”

She smiles bitterly at the title and looks back out on the dark landscape. Ferdinand goes quiet and, eventually, Petra and Dorothea settle in the silence as well. 

The moon hangs lightly in the sky, graceful and clean. A cool breeze blows by, rustling the trees down below and pulling on her hair.

Byleth has missed so much. She can’t sit and wait any longer. 

She swings her legs back over the wall and stands up. “I’m going to go check on Edelgard.”

Ferdinand nods. 

“Be safe,” Petra says. 

“Good luck,” says Dorothea.

The Monastery is as quiet as ever (of course) until she reaches the cathedral. The sound of those heavy boots circling the floor is unmistakable. 

“What do you want,” Edelgard bites out. 

“Nothing,” she says honestly, sitting down and leaning her head against a pillar. “Nothing but your company.”

Edelgard looks at her as if she’s crazy. Maybe she is. Edelgard only pauses for a moment though, once she looks certain Byleth isn’t a threat. She starts pacing first, then whispering and yelling along at her demons. 

Sleep is restless and slippery. But at least here, it is almost like she’s with a stranger over the darkened imprint of the students she knew. 

* * *

After dark, Byleth rouses in the night to the sound of unfamiliar footsteps wandering around the camp. She rolls over immediately, hand on her sword and ready to act. 

She can hear Edelgard echoing in the back of the Cathedral. And it doesn’t sound like a single person. They have two more, at the _least_ , and definitely one or two horses. 

Early dawn light shafts through the open windows and holed ceiling, bathing the entire room in soft light. It makes Byleth sick. How long was she asleep? She jumps to the worst conclusions first, to pillow the blow when it comes. If the Church is here, Dorothea is likely already dead. Having next to no magic coverage will be a heavy blow, there's no chance they can avoid _every_ attack, as skilled as they might be.

The voices start as a low murmur as they approach the camp. But quickly, they're distinguishable, more colorful. More familiar. 

She rushes out of camp to meet them.

Dorothea is leading the last pieces of the old Black Eagles back home, with Petra close behind. Caspar, Linhardt, and Bernadetta. They’re older now, taller and looking about as tired as the rest of them. But yet, Caspar’s eyes shine as he animatedly tells a story. Linhardt rolls his eyes at him (with too much affection to be sincere). Bernadetta giggles from atop a horse, with no effort to hide it.

Linhardt spots her first, completely freezing and making long eye contact with her. Caspar looks back to see why he’s fallen out of step. As soon as he spots her, he perks up like an excited puppy.

“ _Professor!”_ He runs up and swoops her into a hug. Their armor awkwardly pushes back against each other, but she finds she doesn’t really mind. 

“You’re taller,” she says, because he is. He towers over her, now. Filled out and sturdier than he was five years ago.

He laughs, letting her back down. “Yeah I am! Wait, watch this.” 

And then he flexes his biceps, behind him, Dorothea starts laughing. 

Byleth blinks then pushes up her coat’s arm to flex alongside him. 

His face lights up. “I have more muscle than you now?!”

“I think so,” Byleth says, smiling back. “It must be the axe.”

He cheers, turning back to the rest of them. 

Linhardt is smiling, a small but fond thing. “Caspar, not everything is a competition. And hi, Professor. Good to have you back.”

She bows her head at him. “Good to be back.”

Bernadetta swings herself out of the saddle and onto the bridge. Even _she’s_ bigger, a shock on its own. And more sure of herself too, carrying a confidence with her Byleth couldn’t have even imagined five years ago. “I can’t believe it… Dorothea says you didn’t know what happened?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I woke up in the valley. This still feels like… almost a dream.”

Linhardt snorts. “A rather terrible one at that.”

“Hey, don’t be mean, Lin,” Caspar says. “She’s still our Professor.”

“He’s not wrong,” Byleth says, shrugging. “And I'm still catching up.”

Dorothea frowns but gets interrupted by Ferdinand running across the bridge towards them. 

“Bern! Caspar! Linhardt!” He calls out, slowing to a stop only a few steps shy of barreling straight into them. “You’re here!”

Caspar laughs. “Yeah! No Church can get rid of me just yet!”

Petra slows to a stop just short of them too, smiling all the while. “It is a pleasure to be seeing you again.”

“It’s good to see all of you still alive,” Dorothea says. “I missed you all dearly.”

There are loud sounds of agreement from all of them. Byleth thinks half the miracle was surviving, the other half was making it to Garreg Mach.

“We’re almost all here…” Ferdinand wipes at his eyes. “It’s good to see all of you. In good health at that! I–” his gaze catches on Bernadetta’s horse. “By the Goddess, is that a Friesian?”

Byleth looks again and, yeah, at second glance maybe it is a high quality horse. Very cool and black. Strong shoulders. Probably. 

Bernadetta stutters for a second, looking still a little boxed in in such a large group, but Dorothea takes her hand and she overcomes it. “I–Is it? I don’t know much about horses.”

“As wonderful as this is,” Linhardt says, turning to Byleth, “Where is Edelgard? Is she resting?”

“She’s awake, but we best leave her alone for now,” Dorothea says smoothly. “She’s in the back of the Cathedral.”

Petra nods. “We are at camp in the front. Are you all hungry?”

“I caught fish,” Byleth says, and pretends not to see Ferdinand and Dorothea make a face at that. 

“That sounds great!” Caspar says, laughing as he follows them inside. “I haven’t had fresh-caught fish in a long while.”

“What have you been up to?” Dorothea asks. “I haven’t heard much.”

Linhardt rolls his eyes. “ _He’s_ been working as a–”

“I’ve been a mercenary!” He says excitedly. “Sorry, Lin.” 

“It’s fine,” he waves it off. “I know you love it.” 

They end up sitting in a half circle around the fire while they talk. Byleth and Petra pull a dusty pew out for them to sit on, and anyone who doesn’t quite fit sits on the floor around them, leaning on each other. Except Ferdinand, who has sacrificed his seat to coo at Bernadetta’s horse and to tend to his own.

“I went home, at first. Took all I could from Enbarr and burned the rest,” Linhardt says. Everyone nods, as if they're all familiar with this part of the story.

Byleth puzzles over that for a moment. “What do you mean?”

He blinks, then collects himself. “Oh, yes. You don’t know, Professor. I was working in… ah… let’s say research and development, while everything was going on. Not much that really went anywhere before… you know.”

“Oh.” Crests, he was obviously working on something with Crests and those who slither in the dark. She wonders if Rhea knows they’re still feeding off Enbarr’s rotten heart. 

“Are you alright, Professor?” Petra asks.

“Yes,” Byleth says. “My apologies. Go on?”

“Well, eventually, my parents were talking about an arranged marriage with the von Varley household to consolidate power,” He scrunches up his face in distaste. “No offense, Bernadetta.”

“None taken,” she says, “I wasn’t, uhm… too happy with it either.”

“So I went and left. Regrouped with Caspar. Then we came back for Bernadetta,” he yawns. “You said there was food?”

Petra unwraps a roll of bread and hands it to him while Byleth passes her charred catch from that morning. He barely forces out a thanks before digging in. Caspar and Bernadetta take their own too. They eat only marginally more politely than Caspar, so between the three of their attitudes, it’s evident they had been starved on their rush to the Monastery.

None of them really have the heart to divert their attention, so Dorothea speaks up again. “Well, I haven’t been up to anything that exciting. I’ve mostly just laid low in Enbarr, staying with some of the Mittelfrank girls. Then I followed Ferdinand here.”

Ferdinand nods. “I’ve been in Enbarr too, balancing the Adrestian noble faction’s power and the Church. Trying to… Draw things out, I suppose. Set us up for one last fighting chance.”

They’re all remarkably solemn at that, the mood heavily dampening. Ferdinand laughs awkwardly and turns to Petra. “Petra, you didn’t leave for Brigid?”

“I have been considering it many times. But I could not abandon all of you. Lady Rhea told me I could leave, after the Church had finished in taking over Enbarr. But we have come so far and we have lost too much. Perhaps it is not a wise decision as a princess of Brigid, but as a friend to the Empire, I will make it.”

“Thank you,” Dorothea says warmly. “We’re glad you’re with us.”

Bernadetta wipes away at her mouth and looks up. “I’m sorry for asking but… is Hubert here? Is he with Edelgard?”

Dorothea and Ferdinand freeze, looking down. To spare them both, Byleth answers for them. “Hubert is dead.”

That startles silence out of the rest of them, only broken by Caspar.

“I'd heard,” He says. “But I guess I still hoped… At least Edelgard is alive. And everyone else!”

“I… yeah. I knew too, I just…” Bernadetta swipes a hand over her eyes.

Ferdinand raises his water bottle. “Cheers for the dead, cheers for the living.”

Everyone raises their flasks with him in a quiet toast.

“Well, I've been trying out shooting while mounted,” she says awkwardly, pushing her hair back and looking to Byleth. “Like you said before… you know, everything, and I think I'm improving!”

“That’s wonderful. Soon we can train you as a bow knight,” Byleth says, thinking. Certification exams were always more of a formality, if anything. She understands the concepts in theory, and Ferdinand can lend his expertise as a mounted fighter. If they could find Shamir– 

She stops right there. Shamir must be with the Church, marching here or deep in Empire territory. Byleth shakes the thought from her head and tunes back into the conversation.

“This really is a beautiful horse,” Ferdinand says. “Where did you say you found him?”

Bernadetta blushes and stutters, looking back down on the ground. “I… well… you know–”

“We stole it from her father's stables!” Caspar chimes in helpfully. 

Ferdinand chokes on his drinks, Dorothea barks out a surprised laugh, and Byleth blanches entirely for a moment, just trying to comprehend that sequence of events.

“Excuse me?!” Ferdinand gapes at her. 

“I’m so proud of you, Bernie!” Dorothea wraps an arm around Bernadetta’s shoulder. “Show that fucker who’s boss!”

She laughs, the flush reaching up to her ears. “Haha, yeah.”

“It was a fun night, that’s for sure,” Caspar smiles brightly. 

Linhardt drops his head into his lap, cradling his temples. “So much went wrong. So much. Because of the _one_ _person sitting next to me–_ ”

“It worked out!” he says, throwing his arms up. “You can’t _still_ be mad–”

Byleth notices the figure emerging from the waning shadows of the Cathedral before any of the others. She nods in acknowledgement but Edelgard eyes only narrow. 

“What is this.”

Everyone whips around. While her jumpier students spook, the rougher ones react with weapons drawn. Edelgard pulls out her axe in retaliation, but before things can escalate, a voice cuts through the tension. 

Linhardt speaks first, eyeing the bloody figure. “Hold on, I need a moment to vomit.”

He leans behind the pew while Caspar jumps up to tend to him, all previous heat from their argument gone. 

“Your Black Eagles are here,” Ferdinand says. “We might… we might be able to get to Rhea, with this frontline force.”

Byleth looks over to Bernadetta, frozen in her seat, and Caspar and Linhardt crouched over the bench. “We don’t even know if they’ll stay.”

Ferdinand gives her a look, the knowing one that grows only more and more common between them. She can pray, they both can, but all of her students are loyal to a fault. It’s not a question.

“Of course,” Caspar says, looking almost disgusted she even suggested he wouldn’t. Linhardt waves a hand in agreement.

Bernadetta ducks her head. “I– Yeah. I still believe in you, Edelgard. We can bring this back.”

Dorothea’s eyes sparkle and she has to pause to wipe at them. “I... I really missed all of you. Thank you– so much.”

Petra squeezes her shoulder and leans in. “I am in agreement. This has given me hope.”

Edelgard stares at them, her dark gaze blank but watchful. She’s waiting for something, listening, maybe. 

Linhardt sits back up but can’t look anywhere near Edelgard without flinching. Caspar lingers in his space, but he brushes him off. 

In that moment of silence, Byleth starts to hear it. Footsteps, the clop of horses, the whistle of pegasi in flight. Reinforcements, or something a hundred times worse. 

“Is it..?” Ferdinand trails off.

It could be bandits, but with the heavy noise she doubts it. “The Knights.”

Everyone stiffens. Edelgard smiles, thin lips pulled back in a crooked grin. “ _Finally_.”

Ferdinand whips around to Caspar. “You didn’t see the legion of Knights?!”

“We rode in from the _North–_ ”

“Calm!” Dorothea yells over them, forcing a silence as everyone looks to her. “Calm down. We can’t afford this right now.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Ferdinand curses, dropping his lance to his side and pulling himself up into his saddle. “Bernadetta, on me. We need to find that ballista.”

“Just like the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion, right?” she pushes her hair back nervously. “We’ve got this. We’ve got this!”

The chatter of pre-battle prep begins, but Linhardt pulls a gilded staff from his bag and Byleth can't help but immediately zero in on it. “Isn’t that..?”

“The Caduceus Staff,” he smiles wryly. “Yes.”

“Isn't it Flayn’s?”

“Professor, House Hevring doesn't have any crest weapons, or hero’s relics, whatever you'd like to call them. I don't have many opportunities for on-hand experience with the things,” he weighs it in his hand. “The Church would have to kill me to get it back.”

That leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but there isn’t much she can do about it now. “It won’t come to that.”

“They’re riled up,” Edelgard says over the noise. “It can only mean one thing. She’s here. I _know_ she is.”

Byleth turns back to Edelgard, trying to reason with her. “There’s no way Rhea is in the vanguard, she’s too crucial to the Church. Now’s our chance to–”

Edelgard tightens her grip on her axe and marches out. 

Byleth huffs, then starts running after her. “Ferdinand!” she calls. “Flame orbs should be above the main hall!”

He falters for only a moment before saluting. Byleth is left with that last look before being forced to turn back around and catch up to Edelgard.

“At last,” She shakes her head, still smiling. “Let it end.” 

Byleth tightens her fist, listens to the pounding of divine magic in her head. Not here. She won’t let it.

* * *

Back in the ring with the Church of Seiros, and by now it's old hat. Byleth hasn't had the five years of training the Knights have on her, but it doesn't make too much of a difference, cutting and slashing away at them like pests. Problems only start occurring when her students start dying.

They’re outnumbered and easily overwhelmed, so Byleth is putting all her effort into maintaining choke points. She's mostly contained to the front lines, watching Edelgard’s back, but frequently she intercedes and throws off an assailant to any of her other students. She shouts orders quickly, reacting to the battlefield around herself even faster. 

Initially, she misses Bernadetta going down. But when the ballista starts shooting bolts at her, she knows something’s wrong. She burns another divine pulse going further back to blast a low-flying pegasus knight off of her mount and find Petra.

Petra wipes a bloody glove off on her coat and looks up. “Professor?”

She thrusts the reins into her face. “Take this. Go find Bernadetta.”

She doesn’t hesitate in taking them, nodding and swinging herself onto the saddle. This is why she loves Petra. 

Byleth rushes back into the fray and straight into Caspar and Linhardt. Edelgard isn’t in sight from here. Her heart drops. 

“Linhardt, warp me,” she commands. 

He nods, his staff glowing with divine magic and sending her across the battlefield. Slashing away at soldiers, it doesn’t take long to find Edelgard. 

Byleth looks down at her. The red armor, though dulled, still a bright beacon calling her attention. Edelgard’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, her arms splayed out awkwardly from how she fell against the rubble. 

This is not the first time, it will not be the last. Her students only look slightly different now, she needs to only reacquaint herself with the distance.

Byleth burns two divine pulses trying to lead off groups of soldiers away from Edelgard, just to try and lower her chances of surprise attack. She's brutally efficient, even now, but Byleth feels a familiar unease underneath. She tells herself that she's babysitting again, making sure three heirs don’t get cleaved apart by bandits. 

She divine pulses back to Linhardt one more time, after Dorothea gets a nasty blow from behind. “Dorothea needs healing, warp me back to Edelgard.”

The cool wash of his white magic rushes over her and she’s back to Edelgard’s side in an instant. 

Byleth’s eyes catch on her barreling through the battlefield without hesitation, with no regard for herself or real awareness of her surroundings. She tears the heavy axe through armor and flesh, magic building the further she loses herself in the rush. 

Byleth sees the swordsman before Edelgard does. It’s not too late. Byleth reaches for divinity again but… it doesn’t come. The moment is long and taxing, but probably less than a couple seconds. And then she realizes the familiar pulse in her ears (new then old again) is silent. Silence, and then the rush of battle catches up to her again. 

What can she do? (As if it was ever really a question.)

She throws herself between the sword and Edelgard. In the conscious half-moment between bloody collision, well... it's almost nostalgic.

Edelgard realizes what's happened a beat too late, and Byleth goes down behind her. The man’s sword is thrown out of his hands and Byleth is helpless but to watch her axe make a gory mess of him. 

Byleth must have pushed her limits earlier. Now she has to pay for them.

Linhardt is… He’s too far away. Across the battlefield. Right. Thoughts are getting loose and far between her heaving breaths, she needs to focus. 

She grits her teeth and drops her sword to claw her hand over her shoulder and roughly on top of the gaping wound. This time, she reaches for something closer. Recovery magic lights across her palms and heals the gash, sinking over the ruined flesh and healing ugly enough to feel, even without seeing it. Byleth knows better than to use her own healing magic on herself – it never works right – but it's this or death. 

No Sothis to fix this one, after all.

She flexes the muscle. It feels strange but not world-ending. She can still feel the blood wetting her back, clotting along her cape and her shirt. 

Before she can pull herself back up, Edelgard leans down to hold her close to her chest. “The dust has hardly settled and already–” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Byleth says.

Her eyes narrow, flashing brightly as the rising sun slinks up the Monastery walls. “Another ghost… Professor, I will see Rhea dead for you. I will rip out her heart, I’ll paint Enbarr in her blood. I’ll–”

“That’s not what I want,” Byleth sits up and takes Edelgard’s hand in her own. “I want you to live.”

Her face softens. “You… you’re not dead?”

“Not yet,” she winces as she rolls her shoulders back. This will take some getting used to. 

Edelgard ghosts her hand over Byleth’s face again, but pulls back, already sharpening back to her usual self. She doesn’t say another word. 

Byleth has her sword out, raised and ready, but her students come flocking back to them now. Edelgard stands up, slow and uneven behind her. 

The scene is completely desecrated, bleeding out over the old stone. Bodies line every part of the Monastery: men, horses, pegasi – some recognizable, but some new faces too, immortalized in the back of her mind forever as food for the buzzards.

The Knights were expecting their own men stationed here at best, but probably a small bandit force at the least. They certainly weren’t prepared for the level of devastation the Black Eagles had on their vanguard. This has bought them time, valuable time. 

Ferdinand comes galloping in on his horse. “There’s more coming, from the valley. That was only the first wave. We have to retreat _now_.”

But not enough.

All of them are stony cold at that, looking down at the floor. Linhardt is on Caspar’s injuries, the intense glow of his holy magic brightening the room. Bernadetta tries to restring her bow, but her hands shake too much to make progress. 

Petra lands with a practised motion, the pegasus calmly slowing to a halt without a sound of protest. “They will be arriving before noon.”

Byleth can still fight, the adrenaline rush at a high enough peak to ignore her shoulder and the less deadly injuries. But she won’t be able to protect them with divine pulses, and her recovery magic feels heavily drained too. She can’t compensate for that, no matter how hard she tries.

Dorothea dips her head. “We need to leave. Edelgard, _please_.”

“I will go with you,” Edelgard says, her eyes trained on Byleth. Everyone holds their breath creating a loaded stillness around them. “We march to the heart of the Empire.”

Ferdinand frowns. “That’s not… that’s an even worse idea. We need to regroup, likely leave Adrestian territory to recuperate.”

He looks up to Byleth worriedly, so she steps in. “Revenge is a slow acting poison. We need to build our forces first.”

“I see.”

“Let’s pull back to the Alliance,” Linhardt says. “We still have allies there. And Claude’s stayed neutral.”

Caspar nods. “And we’re definitely not welcome in the Kingdom.”

“We can find Marianne, maybe even make our way up to the Riegan patriarch himself,” Ferdinand mulls it over. “Do you think he’s taking audiences with old school friends?”

Linhardt pulls his hands off Caspar and yawns. “Well, whatever you all decide on, let me know. I need to rest.”

Bernadetta blinks and swings back on the saddle. “Do you need to ride?”

“Gladly,” he says, extending an arm for her to help pull him up. “Wake me up after I've recovered enough to heal again.”

She falters. “Uhm… when is that? …Linhardt? Linhardt?!”

Caspar’s laugh lengthens into a yawn as he pats the horse’s side. “A few hours. Once he’s had a meal too, ‘should be fine.”

“Let’s keep moving. If anyone else needs healing, I can try with what I have,” The adrenaline is already weaning, but if they need it, Byleth will do what she can. “Caspar, ride double. You need rest as well.”

“You got it, Professor,” Caspar barely puts up a fight, making Byleth tense up with worry all over again.

He takes Ferdinand’s hand as he offers it and they begin trotting down the back entrance to the Monastery. Byleth and Edelgard keep pace beside them, but it slows all of them down considerably. She internally curses herself for not thinking so far ahead, but there’s not much to be done about it now. It’s only a small comfort that Byleth isn’t sure if Edelgard could even ride like this. The horses grow too wary when she strays too close, so they walk in front at a short distance.

They slow to a stop between the Sealed Forest and the road further north. The Black Eagles wait on her call.

“Let’s cut through the forest,” Byleth says. “Petra and Dorothea, stay grounded. We need to be able to conceal our direction from the Church.” 

With a few tired mumbles of assent, they march forward.

  
  



	2. not a vessel for your good intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude only sits up at his desk to blink at her. “...Professor?”
> 
> Byleth looks curiously at him. “You don't sound too surprised.”
> 
> “Hilda briefed me on the details,” He brushes his hair back, laughing softly. “And, well, the only person I could easily imagine cheating death would be you.”
> 
> She smiles at that. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> claude time

Miles down the road, they near a village on the edge of Alliance territory. The unanimous decision is to send Dorothea and Linhardt in alone, as they’re both the least conspicuous, to buy and bring back supplies. Mostly clean clothes and fresh food.

The rest of them end up sitting by a creek, drinking and resting. They’ve kept a steady march to head in a beeline for the Alliance. Cutting through the mountains with such a small force ensured they wouldn’t need to deal with the Bridge of Myrddin, and maybe even keep record time. 

Caspar cheers loud enough for Byleth to look up. He’s stripped off his heavy boots and greaves to roll up his pants and stand in the creek, happily splashing around. Petra’s humoring him while Ferdinand and Bernadetta sit on the sidelines, watching with amusement while tending to the horses and their recent addition of the Knights’ Pegasus. 

Edelgard lingers in the shade of a tree beside her, cautious and tensed. Her eyes follow Caspar and Petra kicking up water, the flittering of birds nearby, and all other motion in sight. 

The past few days have been a bit of a wreck. While the tension eased from the group the further they were from Adrestia, Edelgard’s had increased tenfold. She shrugs off any help or assistance and, ultimately, all Byleth can do is ensure she is eating and drinking or try to bring Edelgard some comfort with her presence, in hopes to give her a moment of rest.

Edelgard senses Dorothea and Linhardt’s return first, turning sharply to the sound of underbrush rustling.

They're quiet at first. For Linhardt’s part, he naturally isn't that loud of a person. Dorothea’s own presence is muted as they peek out from behind a tree, checking and double-checking that the rest of them are still here.

Byleth waves to them and Dorothea smiles, calling out to everyone by the river, too. “We’re back!”

Petra hops out of the water in a clean movement while Caspar turns around with a smile and wades out from the shallows. “What did you get?”

“Clothes!” Dorothea chimes happily. “Clean clothes! None of you have an excuse to smell like shit anymore! We even got _soap_.”

Ferdinand frowns. “How do you expect us to wash ourselves?”

Dorothea looks him down and then gestures to the flow of water. “Take a guess, bee boy.”

His entire face flushes beet-red. “You _said_ you wouldn't bring it up again–”

Dorothea cackles and pats his shoulder. Caspar laughs along. “Well, it's only up from here, right?”

Linhardt rubs away the sleep from his eyes and dismounts. “I suppose so,” he pulls on the edge of his dark green jacket, frowning. “Yes, I think I’ll clean up, too. Too much blood.”

Bernadetta frowns. “I'm not sure…”

“Don't worry, Bernie, it’s not so bad. If you’re comfortable with it, I can just clean your hair for you? And you can change. We can go a little further upstream for some privacy,” she turns to the boys. “All of you better at least wash up your hair. Especially with the longer bits. We’ll have to braid it, too.”

Byleth isn't as unfamiliar with this as all her noble students are. She cuts a sliver from the bar of soap and walks just far enough to be mostly out of sight, but close enough to yell and be heard. 

She disrobes quickly, dunking her head underwater and then scrubbing the dirt out with soap until the greasy feel is gone. She stops for a moment then, slowing to let the water run down her back. 

The muscle interacts oddly from the bad spot and her natural skin. She can feel it writhe in protest when she moves quickly, enough to be noticeable but not yet slowing her down as much to warrant intervention. 

She rises from the water and reaches for the ratty cloth stand-in for a towel. She shrugs on her underclothes, pants, and a fresh, dark sleeveless shirt Dorothea had picked up for her. She’s unfolding her cape when she hears a rustle from behind her. 

Byleth draws her sword and whips around, but it’s only Edelgard again. She’s frowning, staring at the ashy gray patch of bruised skin just barely visible on the edge of her shoulder. Then her gaze dips to the scar tissue peeking out from under her new shirt. It’s an old wound, one she’s had for as long as she can remember. Where Rhea… did something to her heart. 

Edelgard does not say a word, so Byleth does not answer. 

She sheathes her sword and sweeps her cloak over her shoulders and fastens it at the neck. Then she takes her armor and straps it across her chest, hiding the worst of either mark. 

“Professor!” Dorothea calls, climbing downstream. “Is Edelgard–” She blinks down at them. “Oh, lovely. Edie, we need to wash out your hair at the _least_. And Professor, Petra wants to go hunting.”

Edelgard’s face scrunches in disgust and she backs away, her tangled mane of hair curling along in distaste. Dorothea’s mood dampens but she maintains the pressed smile.

“I’ll go, then,” Byleth says, maybe too quickly. Petra will definitely outclass her, but at the very least, Byleth can carry some of her catch. She pulls on her heavy boots and balances across the pond stones. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

* * *

As they cross Alliance territory, Ferdinand has taken to riding beside her, to give her a brief rundown of their priorities. “Gloucester would be a strong political ally if we could swing it, but Ordelia…” he shakes his head. “Lysithea is a powerhouse, on the battle and off it with her research. She would be great to have.”

“She could help Edelgard?” 

“I think they have a… similar condition. But to different degrees, I imagine. I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Then we need to consult Linhardt as well,” Byleth says, though that would need to wait until they had relatively more privacy. 

“Head is up!” Petra says, swooping lower to call everyone’s attention. “There is a group of horses approaching from the northeast, wearing Alliance colors.”

Byleth frowns. “Do they know we’re here?”

“Yes, I am thinking so. They are heading straight for us.”

She curses. The others riding double slide off their horses and ready their weapons. Edelgard’s grip tightens on her axe. 

Byleth wants to avoid conflict, if it’s possible. “Be ready, but try to stay passive.”

Edelgard grumbles, stance unyielding. Dorothea stands behind her, and her offensive magic responds in kind, a _Meteor_ spell manifesting in her open palm. 

They wait for a bolt or arrow to come flying their way, but the sky stays clear, and soon enough the legion of riders comes into view. Everyone tenses, even if they’re sporting obvious Alliance colors. 

The lead rider slows to a stop just before them, pushing back her helm to look them in the eyes. “Professor?!”

Byleth blinks in the sunlight, trying to make sense of the oh-so-familiar face in front of her. “Ah.”

Caspar lets out a startled noise. “ _Leonie?!_ ”

“Caspar! And Bernie too? Holy shit, and the rest of y’all are here too! You’re– you’re all alive?”

“Ma’am,” says one of the riders behind her. “Are we…”

“Stand down,” she says easily, but then she hesitates. “Why are you all so far in Alliance territory? What’s happening in the Empire?” she glances around Byleth and sees Edelgard. “Is _that–_ ” 

Byleth stands in front of Edelgard to obscure her from view while Ferdinand cuts in. “Bad things. And we're only here to speak with Claude.”

Leonie barks out a laugh. “Well, you're a long ways away from Claude. Were you really going to try to stealth your way all the way to Derdriu?”

Everyone looks down behind Byleth, settling uncomfortably. She shakes her head. “We are limited on options.”

“Is the Church..?” 

“They’re searching for us,” Dorothea waves a hand. “But hopefully, they aren’t too close right now.”

Leonie hesitates. “I… if you all want to talk to Claude, I can escort you,” her battalion starts making noises of protest, but she whistles and they fall into obedient silence. “Y’all can hold down the fort on your own if worse comes to worst. This is…” The Black Eagles are considerably cleaner than they were in Garreg Mach, but the lingering feeling of raw desperation can’t be scrubbed away. “I need to do this.” 

Dorothea’s face softens and the magic dissipates. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leonie says and turns to her men to shout orders. 

Byleth takes the moment to look back on her own. Edelgard is tensed and ready, and Byleth doesn’t doubt for a second that in one wrong move, the moment here can be turned into a bloodbath. So she keeps one eye on Edelgard and a sliver of attention to her divine pulse. Dorothea extends a calming hand to her, only to be shoved away without comment. 

“I'm sending a messenger ahead,” Leonie calls to them. “We should start moving now, before it gets too dark. We'll be avoiding any villages.”

Reasonable. Byleth nods. “How far a journey are we?”

“Over a week’s ride. Marching will lengthen that, so I've sent for some horses.”

Byleth glances back to Edelgard, but she doesn't seem overly against riding. They can make it. “Okay,” the rest of the team perks up at the change. “Everybody, pack up. Again.”

* * *

Leonie keeps them at a brisk pace, with only a little time to rest during the darkest times of the night. The colder seasons are creeping closer, and the night is harsher for it. But they don't linger for long before getting back on the road.

Riegan Manor itself is a rather grandiose thing, sitting in the middle of Derdriu. Leonie sneaks them through the city in the night, leading them through the Manor’s imposing iron fences and sprawling gardens.

Hilda meets them at the door, only balking a little at their colorful entourage and sparing little comment about the state of Edelgard. Maybe Dorothea was on to something with freshening up with a bath and new clothes.

Byleth visited the Imperial Palace in Enbarr only briefly. The most perplexing part of the sprawling building was the number of rooms. Rooms for everything, even the smallest of inactivities, as far as the eye could see. The Riegan Manor is similar in that regard, with sitting rooms, living chambers, foyers, lofty hallways, and even _more_ sitting rooms, somehow. 

“Okay, Claude’s office is here. You can go in when you’re ready, Professor,” Hilda says.

Ferdinand frowns. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Byleth shakes her head. Ferdinand is painstakingly predictable, even through all his trauma. It’s safer to go alone. “Stay out here. I’ll be back soon.”

He looks downcast but doesn’t fight her decision, settling down awkwardly on the couch with the rest of the Black Eagles. Byleth nods to them, takes a steadying breath, and pushes the door open.

The room itself is awfully drab, which she wasn’t really expecting. Especially for Claude, who she would anticipate would only inhabit some place as verdant and enigmatic as himself.

For his part, Claude only sits up at his desk to blink at her. “...Professor?”

Byleth looks curiously at him. “You don't sound too surprised.”

“Hilda briefed me on the details,” He brushes his hair back, laughing softly. “And, well, the only person I could easily imagine cheating death would be you.”

She smiles at that. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

He waves it off. “Take it how you’d like. Now, I'm sure this isn't just a social appointment. Are the rest of the Black Eagles with you?”

“The surviving ones,” she says, watching his expression.

Claude doesn't give much away, only nodding along. “I can imagine. The war hasn’t been kind on any of us.”

Byleth nods. “So the Alliance and the Empire.”

“As allies?”

“I don't want to fight you. Certainly not here, in the heart of the Alliance.”

He laughs good-naturedly. “It is quite the disadvantage, I'd say. But of course, I have to stay neutral. The Alliance can’t run itself.”

“Of course,” she replies coolly.

“But… Well, the Church stands in the way of all I want to accomplish. So I won't stop you, if you can pull this off.”

“But you can’t lend us aid,” she says, disappointed enough to leak into her tone. 

He smiles, looking hauntingly as if he’s won. “On the contrary, if you can persuade any of the Alliance to support your cause, I won’t stop them.”

She tilts her head and leans on her arm over the table. “Oh? You’re awfully keen to leave your own men for dead.”

“You’re awfully keen on the fact that this is a losing battle,” he shoots back. “It’s a calculated risk.”

“Hm,” she muses over his words, kicking them around her head for a bit. Well, she might as well be upfront about her questions, if nothing else but to startle a response from him. “What is it you want to do after the Church is gone?”

Claude rests his chin on his own hands, leaning over to sit face to face with her. “It’s a bit of a secret, Professor, but I think I can let you in on it. I want to open Fódlan’s borders. Herald a new era of trade and glory.”

It’s a selfless enough proposal that she knows there’s a hidden, personal aspect of it deep down. All nobles are like that, fundamentally. And he might be lying, but if he’s sincere, they lose nothing by allying themselves with him in the long run. Fully reestablishing Fódlan and shrugging off the Church’s mantle can go hand in hand with an idea like that. She nods to him. “Okay. I want Lysithea and Marianne. Leonie too, if that’s possible.”

“Free for the taking if you want them,” He says, grinning all the while. “Here,” he pushes his chair back to lead her from his office. 

The Black Eagles are waiting right where she left them, a jittering ball of tension and anxiety. As she walks in, they all stand up to attention immediately. Some of them open their mouths to speak but she waves them off.

“The Alliance is staying neutral. But Marianne and the others have permission to fight for us if they wish it.”

They let out a breath of relief.

“I’ll send for her,” Claude says. “And ask for Lysithea as well, if you want to take your shot on that.”

“You're so dishonorable that you wouldn’t stand by us as is? You would lie and hide behind others until your victory is ensured?” Edelgard’s tone is low and accusatory, with her shoulder hunched forward. She's cagey and evidently out of place in the ornate manor. 

“I'm just not too quick to bring the Alliance to ruin,” Claude says evenly. “I can’t afford to give you my blessing, even behind closed doors.”

Edelgard scoffs, but says nothing else.

“The Church is rabid at our borders, hungry for answers on why the Alliance didn't immediately take arms during the struggle,” he shakes his head. “It won’t end well. That’s for certain.”

An awkwardness hangs in the air so Byleth decides to take the plunge.

“Leonie,” Byleth turns to her. “Would you fight with us to take back the Empire?”

“Ah,” she says. “I beg your pardon?”

“I– Professor, that is a lot to ask someone,” Ferdinand says. “And it’s been five years, I–”

“Sure,” Leonie says, throws her head back with a barked laugh at the look of disbelief she garners. “I mean… It would do Captain Jeralt proud to fight alongside his daughter. And I never got to learn much from the Professor either. The village is well-trained enough to fend off bandits. We wouldn’t have to worry about Seiros or Adrestian invasion if I could take care of it directly.”

Hilda gives her a look. “That’s… fairly more pragmatic than I expected from you, Leonie.”

“Thank you,” Byleth says.

“I ain’t about to turn on the Alliance,” she clarifies. “But I know you Adrestians are all just squishy mages. You need some real muscle,” she smiles good-naturedly, flexing for emphasis. Caspar takes this as a point of contention and flexes back. 

Byleth turns back to Claude. “Ordelia’s on the Southern border, correct? Is there a point of rendezvous between here and there?”

He looks thoughtful. “Hm, maybe. We definitely need you out of the city as soon as we can. The longer you’re here, the harder it will be to keep it quiet.”

They get swept up in the conversation from there. The evening ends with fresh plans for the morning following, likely _more_ riding from place to place, and most interestingly, an audience with Marianne and Lysithea. It is improvement, and it gives her hope for the future.

* * *

They arrive at their rendezvous point early, a summer home for the Goneril family in more peaceful times, leaving ample time for the Black Eagles to finally sit still and rest. Byleth takes the time to plan out their route with Ferdinand, with input from the rest of the force on strategy.

“I can't imagine Claude would send reinforcements to the Church through the Great Bridge of Myrddin, but in the situation we're in, we can't dismiss the possibility,” Ferdinand narrows his eyes, drawing dark lines across the map he’s drawn. “We’ll have to go up north, to cut off the Church's supply routes from the Kingdom and isolate their forces. It’s likely there will be students from the Royal School of Sorcery on the field. If we can cripple them, the church and the kingdom are temporarily severed.”

Dorothea looks down. “Weren’t Annette and Mercie taught there?”

Byleth doesn't remember so she looks to Ferdinand. He shrugs. “If I remember correctly, yes. But we can't afford to discriminate based on nostalgia.”

“Of course,” Dorothea says evenly. “I… I'm listening, carry on.”

Byleth thinks on it. “If we could travel down that route and clear a path, it would be a straight shot to the next major fortress. Mercurius, right?”

“We would be needing to stray from the main roads. I do not think walking straight into the fortress is being the best plan,” Petra points to one of the blurs of graphite. “What is this forest called?”

Leonie opens her mouth to respond, before being quickly shut down by Caspar. “Bergliez territory. I got this.”

With everyone’s eyes on him, he falters. “I, uhm… the Sealed Forest. No! Wait–”

He startles Bernadetta into laughing. “That’s not even– that’s barely in Empire territory!”

“ _Shit_. Look, I–” He turns to Leonie. “Please, Goddess, help me out here.”

She leans against her armchair, perching her head on her hand. “Nah, you tell me.”

“This is unfair!” He whines, the mountain of a man _whines_ in protest. No matter what, it seems some things never change.

“Hey, _you_ interrupted me!” She says, not entertaining that notion for a moment.

It’s almost uncanny having someone who matches Caspar’s exuberance and energy, play by play. Byleth can't help but smile, somewhat transfixed by their squabbling. But abruptly, they’re spared a single hard knock on the door before it’s thrown open, scattering everyone apart from the shock of it. 

“Your guests are here,” Hilda says, rolling her eyes looking entirely unrepentant. 

Marianne pokes her head nervously through the doorway, before her eyes land on Byleth and the rest of them, happiness plain on her face as it bubbles up like a fountain. Lysithea and Claude follow close behind.

Byleth leans into Caspar’s space, doing a brief headcount. “Go find Linhardt and... Edelgard too. She should be here for this.”

He frowns at Edelgard’s name but nods regardless. “You got it, Professor.”

Marianne falters, wringing out her hands as she stands in front of Byleth. She looks like she wants something, but she doesn't know how to ask.

Byleth tilts her head. “Do you want a hug?”

She smiles, polite and small, but sincere. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” and Byleth wraps her arms around Marianne as she walks into them.

“Everyone gets a Professor hug, then?” Dorothea asks, amused. “It feels almost unfair to be left out, right, Petra?”

“No, I got one,” Petra says. “You are being in the minority.”

“Professor!” Dorothea balks at that. “How dare you, I thought we had something!”

“You never asked,” Byleth shrugs and pulls away. “Glad to have you back, Marianne.”

Marianne smiles, a radiant sunbeam of joy. “Me as well. I was so worried for everyone else!”

Byleth looks up to Caspar’s silent reentrance, waving a small sign of gratitude as Linhardt and Edelgard step in.

“We missed you,” Dorothea smiles wildly and pats her shoulder. “It’s been a… long time since Enbarr.”

Linhardt waves it off. “You didn’t miss much that was too eventful, so don’t worry too much about it.”

Marianne ducks her head. “I'm sorry for missing the reunion and–”

Ferdinand stops her there. “A lot was going on. A lot is _still_ going on. We’re just happy to see you still alive.”

Caspar claps her on the back, so hard on her small frame that she shudders at the force. “Just glad to have you back!”

“It’s wonderful that you can have your little reunion,” Lysithea says drily. “But could I ask why you’ve asked for me as well?”

“They want you for their rebellion,” Claude says, as nonchalant as anything.

She narrows her eyes. “Really, now?”

The rest of her students stumble over the uptake, so Byleth steps in again. She doesn't know all the details of Lysithea’s life. Before she was privy to Edelgard’s, she could have sworn the glow of a second crest was a trick of the light. But she knows better now, and she prays showing Lysithea Edelgard’s condition will be enough to persuade her to join. “There is a darkness lurking in the heart of the Empire that I know you have a… personal vendetta against.”

“I see. So you wish to change what let the Empire do this to me, correct?” she waves vaguely at… her everything. The white hair, the pale eyes, the short stature. 

“Absolutely,” Ferdinand says without a moment's hesitation. “We–”

“I want to hear it from her. Edelgard is the one that'll be on the throne, right? The Emperor, Heir Apparent? Where is she?”

“Here,” The air of the room chills somehow, a heavy feeling weighing on them all as Edelgard clears her voice to speak. Lysithea whips around to face her and Edelgard looks back steadied and unafraid, but her handle on the axe at her side is loose. It’s telling enough to Byleth and the other Black Eagles to be at ease. “I will take the Agarthians and I will split their hearts. I will cut them to pieces and set them ablaze. Whatever is left of their ashes will be seared from the pages of any history.”

That startles a silence from Ferdinand and the rest, but Lysithea nods, Edelgard’s blazing fire reflecting in her own eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” she turns to Claude. “Claude–”

“You don’t need to ask my permission,” he says with a small smile, crossing his arms. 

She frowns and swats at him. “I wasn't about to. It was only a courtesy.”

He squeezes her shoulder. “I’m sure. Stay alive out there, alright?”

Dorothea crosses her arms and leans in to whisper Byleth’s ear. “Well, that was an easy sell.”

Byleth nods. “I did not think she would be too difficult to convince.”

“It’s still–” she shakes her head. “I’m not sure. Somewhere between heartwarming and suspicious.” 

She shrugs. “Not much to be done about it as of now.”

Dorothea sighs and straightens her back. 

Ferdinand leans forward and crosses his arms. “Do we need to go back to Ordelia territory to retrieve your things?”

Lysithea grimaces and takes a moment to think on it. “ …No. Everything I truly need I carry on me. And you all don’t have the luxury of time, right now,” she looks up to Marianne. “Anything you need?”

“Not at all,” she says. “Dorte is resting in the stable now, but we could leave right this moment if the duty calls for it.”

“Then we must go,” Edelgard says resolutely.

“I suppose there’s enough daylight left to get a start on the journey,” Byleth offers, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “If it’s in our best interest…”

There’s a collective sigh shared between them all. Life at march has been cruel and unyielding, and Byleth can’t help but share the sentiment. But it’s necessary.

“This is it, then?” she asks Claude.

“It seems so. There’s business in Derdriu I need to tend to, so I’ll have to be on my way.”

Byleth nods to him. “Thank you for your kindness.”

“I simply hope the Emperor does not forget it,” he says, bowing his head. 

Edelgard does not dignify him with any response save for the hardening of her eyes and the crease of her brow. He takes what he can get. 

* * *

Things start to feel less impossible after meeting with Claude.

With Lysithea, Leonie, and Marianne on their side. they have the necessary backup and firepower to go on the offensive. Some of Leonie’s makeshift militia follow after her, and soon enough, there’s a small trickle of imperial loyalists flocking to them to have a few sizable battalions.

Hell, even some of their old mercenary troop come out of the woodwork once they hear Byleth’s still alive.

But the most distinct addition, by far, is the Death Knight. 

He appears as a phantom in the night, apparating back into existence after effectively vanishing with Adrestia’s fall. 

They’re gathered around the fire and taking a brief dinner while negotiating watch shifts. It takes them a second too long to detect the presence before it’s already lurking behind Caspar.

“ _Shit,_ ” he curses, his axe too far from reach and the creature’s scythe too close for comfort.

Within a blink, they’re all armed and ready. Linhardt’s magic is nearly first on the draw for once but Edelgard is even quicker, her axe aimed at the shadow. 

It takes a moment for Byleth to recognize the distinct shape of the mask, the glowing red eyes, but as soon as she does… “Don’t, it’s–”

“Jeritza, you best pray you’re not here with foul intent or you will suffer the consequences,” Edelgard says, ever unyielding. Byleth can tell this encounter can turn rotten quickly, much too quickly for her liking. 

“Ah,” The Death Knight doesn’t draw his weapon, instead pulling the mask off. “No, it’s… I’ve come to lend you my aid, my lady.”

It is a bit awkward at first. Though Byleth and the rest of the Black Eagles know he's their ally, especially after fighting by his side against the Church, so many years ago. But he sticks out like a sore thumb around camp. Jeritza spends the first days back trailing after Edelgard like a lost dog, a pale shadow among the camp. And unfortunately for him, he hasn't realized his presence is entirely unwanted. It's not long before Edelgard grows sick of the treatment, her temper boiling over loud enough for the entire camp to hear.

“I want to be alone,” Edelgard says. Byleth watches her body language, wanting to step in before they make a scene out of it. “I do not need some _pest_ following me.”

Jeritza frowns. “Lady Edelgard–” 

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she spits. “And leave me now, if you do not wish to join the Knights in their shallow grave.”

“I…” he shakes his head. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

She turns away from him, her tattered cape swishing after her as she leaves for the furthest boundaries of camp. Byleth drops her meal (undersalted rations, as many of her meals have become these days) and stands up to go see him.

He looks her down and frowns. “I imagine you’re here to console me, would you?”

“We shouldn’t have this conversation in the middle of camp,” Byleth murmurs. 

“Really now?” He sneers. “You are an embarrassment to Lady Edelgard. The Church– _Rhea’s_ personal protege. A creature born to be a vessel for the Goddess.”

Byleth can't disagree with that. “But I can fight. And I will fight for Edelgard.”

“Will you?”

“As long as she needs me.”

He huffs out a breath and turns away. “Sure. She needed you five years ago, though. And where were you then? Sleeping in?”

“I’m not here to fight you,” Byleth says. 

He stiffens sharply, that setting something off inside him. “Then _what_ –”

Byleth had thought better of getting Edelgard something new and sharp to celebrate her birthday. She had needed something that wasn't reminiscent of the war, and that's where Dorothea shone during their supply runs. Byleth will find something else to give her later, she supposes, because clearly Jeritza needs it now. 

“Here,” she pulls out a sweet cake, gingerly unwrapping the waxed paper. “Have this.”

His eyes dart from the package and back up to her. “Excuse me?”

“You’d better take it before Lysithea hears wind of what I’m offering.”

A potent enough threat. He snatches it from her hands and takes a bite. 

“You should rest now, so you are prepared for march tomorrow. It is a long ride from Adrestia to here. Not to mention even tracking us.”

He scoffs. “Sure. You likely overthink my involvement here.”

Byleth shrugs. It’s a fairly educated guess.

“Fight me,” he says suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

“Pardon?”

He pockets the treat, staring her down defiantly. “You heard me.”

“This seems… unnecessary. And a waste of resources and energy,” she ghosts a hand over her scabbard. It is. It’s completely nonsensical, but Jeritza has never been one to communicate with words. And the days of riding have taken their own toll on her. She breaks. “Okay, one round.”

Without any preface, he jumps at her with his lance drawn. He fights dirty, aiming immediately for her pressure points. That’s fine. She prefers fighting with no holds barred. It’s quick, easy, and cathartic.

She hears the others start to whistle and cheer but quickly filters it out before it becomes too distracting. Sword up, she forces him back, the sharp edge of her blade digging into the side of the staff. They struggle for control for only half a second before Jeritza pulls back and Byleth awkwardly stumbles forward.

He swings again but she's ready for it, ducking under the arc to sweep his legs out from under him. The weakness of cavalry fighters: they never watch their feet. He's grounded again, sword at his throat.

“You are too tired to be much of an opponent.”

He huffs. “I can go again–”

“I need you in fighting condition for the attack,” Byleth says, with an air of finality about it. “Eat and rest.”

“Fine,” he reaches for the sweet cake again and takes another angry bite. Byleth fixes him with a look while he pulls himself up, not averting her gaze until she’s certain he’s on his way to his tent.

Now that she’s looking across camp, the sharp feeling of tension digs into her chest again. Even those usually bursting with energy are subdued, a blanket silence falling across the landscape save for the sound of campfires and metal clinking.

There aren't enough resources to sleep solo so all of them, Byleth included, bunk together most nights, usually divided by shift and whoever's closest. She imagines she’ll be throwing down her own cot in the first empty spot she can find.

As much of a security risk as it is, Edelgard usually takes a tent in the furthest reaches of camp, where the sounds of human life are at their lowest. They never call her to take watch, but Byleth imagines her nights are restless regardless.

Byleth finds her alone again, but terrifyingly silent. Edelgard’s hair brushes over her armored shoulders, ever an unkempt and tangled mess. 

Byleth moves loudly, as to not take her by surprise. Edelgard tenses and relaxes minutely as she registers Byleth’s presence. She eyes her uncertainly but doesn't protest as Byleth crouches down to sit down beside her.

They don't say a word to each other, but Byleth can tell that the tightly wound wire that kept Edelgard together is uncurling with a distant sort of warmth returning to her. 

“I do not trust Jeritza,” she says, turning to look away again. 

It’s a confession Byleth doesn't expect, even if it was blatantly obvious earlier. “Okay. I talked him down. He's staying.”

“Is it necessary?”

That’s… Byleth wracks her brain for the last time Edelgard asked something like that. Not since she woke up, certainly. 

“...I think so,” she says after a moment. “We need every ally we can garner.”

Edelgard huffs a breath, considering. The air collects in a weak mist around her face, a steady reminder of the inevitable chill blowing down from the Faerghus north. “We hurt less and less for troops.”

“Only to our good fortune,” Which is entirely true. The Alliance has been able to field and redirect any of the supporters that gather there, courtesy of Claude, most likely. But those things aren't a concern for Edelgard. That's not what she wants to hear. “Can you stomach his company?”

Edelgard frowns and finally turns away. “It’s… he is only another instrument of war, if it’s as you say. If it's needed to keep you alive, I'll allow it.”

Byleth isn't sure if the ‘you’ is specified to only herself, or the rest of the troop. She isn't sure if she can stomach the answer.

They lapse into silence. Byleth stays there with her, until her watch shift comes up and Ferdinand comes over to inform her that he's going to rest.

* * *

One of the few things Byleth never misses about Faerghus is the cold. It's almost as if there's a sinister magic that takes hold between the Alliance border and Kingdom territory, cooling the earth to freeze. Hell, they're nearing the height of summer and it's still more chilling than southern Adrestia in the middle of winter. 

All of her students from Enbarr’s beachfront quietly bemoan this fact behind her. They’re nearing one of the checkpoints for the supply route, but Byleth imagines they won’t even have the advantage of surprise at the rate they’re going. 

“ _Please_ , hush,” Ferdinand whispers at the loudest he can afford. “I know you're cold.”

Byleth pats his back and turns around to fix them with a look. Jeritza straightens beside her, the eerie glow of his mask leering down and effectively silencing them. While they’re at march, he is almost lost in the legion of dark knights if not for the mask distinctly marking his presence.

Edelgard is quiet as ever, despite probably dealing with the worst of the cold with her metal armor and refusal to take it off to wear something warm underneath. On the bright side, they finally found a horse that doesn't shy away from her presence: Jeritza’s own, which makes sense in a way. He's decent enough at riding to easily trade off and readjust.

The horses in front halt in a swift moment. They’ve arrived, then. 

Without a word, the Black Eagles start dismounting behind her. She swings off her own horse, patting Ferdinand on the back as she pulls off. They can do this. 

The troops split evenly between mounted and infantry, gathering as necessary. She nods to Ferdinand, leader of the cavalry forces. He nods back. She gestures the go-ahead and her faction flies through the treeline and onto the unaware convoy. 

She’s not watching for it, but she can feel the unnerving settle of dark magic as Lysithea wrecks havoc. Her own lightning magic splinters through the soldiers, electric and fatal. The adrenaline buzz spurs her forward; she easily falls into rhythm of magic, sword, and repeat to deal with the next soldier.

Byleth slices through one man’s leather armor when she hears the noise of another approaching from behind. She whips around to slash at him but her shoulder doesn’t agree with the motion, sending a shot of pain through her chest, sharp as a knife. Edelgard makes up for it, cleaving him straight into the ground.

Edelgard wipes the blood under her nose with a glove, spreading it into a harsh smear across her face. “You are breakable, even now, I watch you crumble.”

“Well, I’m no more breakable than you,” Byleth says, and isn’t that a white little lie? Her own physicalities can be redone half a dozen times over. Victory is a matter of _when_ , not _if_ by now. Her power stretches itself out as it’s exercised more frequently than ever with increasing activity. No loss can be afforded, however small anymore. Edelgard silently regards that before the swing of another weapon yanks them both out of the moment and back into the fray. 

Battle itself hardly passes as something she keeps awareness of, really. Byleth knocks out mages and clerics, one after another after another. 

One body stands out to her as the dust settles. The small, crumpled form of a blonde woman, her dark priory outfit tarnished by the blood seeping out from a wound on her chest. A familiar face, though nothing she could place. Someone from Garreg Mach.

She can’t spare another thought to it.

The Kingdom soldiers accompanying the convoy fall dead and the Black Eagles stand victorious. A bounty lies in front of them now: resources, useful resources, waiting to be looted before they go back to dodging the Church from the treeline. They gather to regroup and survey the damage.

Petra pokes her head out from one of the covered carts. “There is enough food in here to be feeding us for the entire journey south!”

Caspar slashes a hole through the cloth netting over the side of one of the carts. “Yeah! I think this is part of their weapons shipment.”

Bernadetta rides over from her hidden perch on the side of the road. “All clear from the North.”

Ferdinand comes galloping down the trail. “We need a healer, there’s–”

Byleth is up and reaches up for Ferdinand’s hand to ride alongside. “Who’s hurt? Are there reinforcements?”

“Small unit was traveling northbound prematurely from the rendezvous point. We’re fine but Leonie’s horse is down. We can’t afford losing a rider.”

Byleth frowns. She can go fastest but she isn’t sure how comfortable she is leaving the small force here. She turns to shout. “Petra! Can you--”

“Professor,” Bernadetta cuts in. “I can… I know some faith magic. If you need me to, I can…”

She looks at her. “Since when?”

“Ah. Just…” she turns away, looking somewhat bashful about it. “Linhardt has been teaching me. We’ve had too many close calls.”

Byleth considers it for a moment, then nods. “Go then,” She has enough energy to divine pulse if worse comes to worst. She jumps back off the horse. “If there’s any sign of trouble, call for us.”

Ferdinand nods too, and they spur the horses racing down the path. 

“Professor,” Petra comes running up. “Did you need..?”

“All good,” she watches them race along the path, turning away as they round the corner. “Let’s count inventory.”

The rest of the infantry unit are gathering in clumps around the carts, tallying food and other necessities for transit. Edelgard emerges from the shadows herself, eerily quiet during post-battle cool down. She follows Dorothea in silence, eyes darting to track all of the movement around them.

Caspar rambles excitedly over the large, formidable killer axe he’s scrounged up, waving it around until Dorothea snaps at him to drop it. “Would you _please_ hush up? I'm trying to–”

She pushes her hair back, her hand trembling as she struggles with the simple motion.

“Dorothea?” Petra asks quietly. “Is something..?”

“I’m sorry,” Caspar says, dropping the axe immediately to the ground so he can walk up to her. “Did I–”

“Annette was there,” Dorothea’s voice is shaky as she wipes the tears from her face. “She was still so tiny, y’know?” Petra comes up from behind her and rests a grounding hand on her side without a word. 

“Do you want a hug?” Caspar asks, awkwardly brushing his hand over her arm. 

“You’re still bloody,” Dorothea says with a wet laugh before getting swooped up in his massive arms. He doesn't make a joke of it as he usually does, when he swings her around as they laugh. It’s solemn, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. 

Edelgard frowns and turns away to hide in the dark recesses of the cart.

Byleth stiffens at the sound of galloping horses, sword drawn and ready to strike at the first sound, but fortunately it was only the return of the cavalry unit, Leonie and her steed thankfully in tow.

“Sorry about that,” she says, shaking her head. The horse whinnies, back leg kicking up dust behind her. “

“Just glad I could help!” Bernadetta chimes, still evidently riding out the rush of adrenaline, clearly evident on her tiny frame as she jitters in her seat. 

Linhardt shrugs as he dismounts beside her. “It happens. Ran out of warp spells, I suppose. That's why we have so many healers,” his gaze immediately narrows in on Caspar and Dorothea. “Ah. Is there anything I can– I mean… Well.”

Caspar eases off his grip on Dorothea, “Don't worry about it, Lin. that kind of day.”

He nods solemnly, and the rest of them share a similar sentiment.

“Is something amiss..?” Jeritza urges his horse towards Byleth, frowning as his eyes darting behind her to land on Dorothea. 

Byleth shakes her head. “Nothing you can help.”

He comes to peace rather quickly with that, though she expects it must be something of a relief to not have to deal with the emotional side of things.

“There was a Garreg Mach student fighting on the Kingdom’s side. Blue lions,” she says as a way of explanation. “Annette, the redhead.”

He blinks and frowns, looking out on the ruined line of carts. “Have you seen another… specific girl? Another student at Garreg Mach.”

Byleth tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“Mercedes von Martritz. I believe she was in the Blue Lions house.”

Oh. “The blonde one?”

“Yes.”

Byleth follows his gaze over the convoy in its entirety, of the slight blonde woman buried somewhere beneath it. Then she turns away. “No. I hadn’t at all.”

“I see,” he replies. And there it ends.

* * *

Everyone is exhausted, but they can’t afford to camp for long while in Empire territory. They would be outnumbered too quickly, too easily, if the Knights found their location. So they light no fire tonight. The convoy has enough food already prepped: cured meat, fresh fruit, all the works. They don't need to cook anything and a campfire would be a dead giveaway for any scouts trying to locate them. 

They rode quick and far from the supply line, covering their tracks the best they could as they pushed further south. It’d been an exhausting two days, with minimal rest as they pushed their every limit to gain ground while the Empire discovered their mark. 

Edelgard is inching closer to a more mentally sound state, but it's a slow-going process. Her moods are always some degree of foul, and anger comes over her like rolling thunder in the worst times. It manifests in her tense stature and short words, her lengthy ramblings muttered under breath as the rest of them speak amongst themselves in low voices. It's not an evening of commerce and celebration in the least. The rest of them are quiet and unobtrusive, claiming watch shifts before turning in for the night.

But none of it matters to Edelgard, who seems to be regarding any presence at all as hostile.

Bernadetta keeps her distance, ducking behind their larger members to stay out of sight. The Alliance folk have already turned in, save for Lysithea, who stubbornly stays in the direct line of fire amidst the other Black Eagles. 

Edelgard rips a piece of jerky in half, easily pulling it apart through her teeth. Quelled until she at least finishes her meal. 

Byleth has finished eating, so she's discussing tactics again with Ferdinand, drawing routes to Merceus in the dirt to consider. Lysithea offers her own choice commentary on every decision without provocation, while the rest of them chime in appropriately. 

“I can only imagine we’ll meet more Kingdom troops there. Maybe even a general,” he mutters.

“Dimitri?” she asks.

Lysithea scoffs. “No way they’ll have a big name man like him. He’d be in Enbarr at least, right?”

“I don’t know why they heed the advice of Alliance traitors,” Edelgard says, looking past them all to meet the eyes of an invisible apparition beyond their sight.

Lysithea bristles. “Well, _excuse me_ but–”

“We just need to rest,” Dorothea pushes, deftly braiding Petra’s hair into an intricate pattern. “Please. We’re all irritable.”

“It would be optimal to revisit this while we all have rested,” Ferdinand says. Byleth nods at his command. “I don’t want to miss a single detail.”

Edelgard narrows her eyes. “You are going to waste valuable time for the luxury to _sleep_?”

“I’m heading to bed,” Linhardt says, shrugging. “Wake me up for second shift.”

Caspar nods rapidly, ejecting the two of them as far from whatever conversation is going on here as he can. Byleth offers them both a quick half-wave as a farewell. 

“Edie, please, let's just–” Dorothea tries.

“You _left_ me,” Edelgard rasps. “I– ”

“Fucking...” Her eyes ignite with a harsh fury, words flooding from her mouth before Edelgard can even attempt to cut her off. “How _dare_ you?! That is the cruelest, most inane thing you can say, _Edie_ ,” Dorothea’s smoldering rage bubbles to a peak, and she spits the old pet name like it’s something loathsome. “We thought– _Everyone_ thought you were dead. We fought until the last moment at your side. When the execution order came, I… I didn't know what to do. The last of the Black Eagles had split by then. The Mittelfrank girls took me back in, _knowing_ I was an imperial soldier. And I mourned for months thinking you were dead and _gone_ and all the nasty things Rhea was saying were true!

“How fucking dare you, Edie, for a _moment_ think I had betrayed you. I was prepared to walk through hell for you. And here I am again, prepared to walk right through it once more. If it were just you, I would've left. I would've made my peace with your foul ghost and left you to die. But the Professor’s here and she believes in you, Edie. She doesn't know any better. So don't fucking let her down.”

Her clenched grip on the edge of her blouse tightens, and the seam rips hard enough that it's audible. Dorothea realizes too and shakes her hands out. “You're all we have, Edie. We can't lead a revolution without an Emperor.”

“You can do what you like,” Edelgard says.

She looked almost as if she was about to apologize there, but at that she simply drops her hands to her sides and turns away. “I’m just– _ugh._ ”

Byleth looks between Edelgard and the darkened shadow of Dorothea as she stalks away. Edelgard looks expectantly at her, as if she’s vying for approval with that move, but Byleth just shakes her head at her.

“Can I..?” she turns to Petra, nodding in Dorothea’s direction.

Petra nods, but her own worried expression doesn't ease.

Byleth takes off into the forest, but Dorothea isn't far, just barely beyond the treeline so she can sit just past the brush and look up at the sky over the open field. 

She looks up as Byleth approaches, her cheeks wet and her eyes blotchy and red. “Ah, Professor…” she wipes at her face with a length of her shirt sleeve to limited success. “Are you–”

“Do you want your Professor hug?” Byleth asks awkwardly. She shifts back and forth, not sure what to do with herself after getting this far. 

“I–” Dorothea lets out a heavy breath, smiling minutely. “Yes, I think I would.”

She opens up her arms and wraps them tightly around Dorothea.

“It’s going to be okay.” Byleth says, swaying softly to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Neither of them make a sound for a long moment, until Dorothea breaks the silence, pulling away.

“You are… surprisingly good at hugs, Professor,” she says thoughtfully.

Byleth ducks her head, thinking of her father. He was brilliant at things like that, she only does as he would’ve. “I am glad to hear that.”

Dorothea laughs softly at that, then looks back out at the sky. “The revolution fell apart without you, you know. Edie had trouble keeping it together and the Church took every advantage of that.”

“It won’t happen again,” Byleth says, and in that she is entirely certain.

“You couldn’t control it the first time,” Dorothea points out. “Who’s to say it can’t be replicated?”

“You’ve changed,” Byleth realizes. It’s less a realization and more coming to peace with the truth, something she’s known since finding them in Garreg Mach. Harsh reality sets in entirely. 

“For better or for worse?” Dorothea laughs out bitterly.

“Generally,” Getting antsy sitting still, she runs her hand through her mussed up hair again. “It’s not linear like that. You’ve just.. kept going forward. At whatever the cost.”

“I think you've changed, too,” Dorothea says after a moment.

“Oh?”

“It’s not like… you were holding back. It's just, now– You're a beast. About as lethal as Edelgard, but with every part more control. I don't think I could ever fight like you do.”

Easy as breathing, really, Byleth thinks. Her first steps were with weapon in hand, quietly teething on the hilt of a dagger. “No one fights the same way. It’s… almost like its own story. You can tell a lot about someone’s past based on how they move.”

“That your teacherly wisdom for tonight?” She asks with a smile.

“Use it well,” Byleth tries to reply solemnly, the effect greatly ruined by a small smile perking up on her lips. 

Dorothea turns away again. “What is it you want, Professor, after the war is over? What are you fighting for?”

It's a question Byleth tends to shrug off. She never thinks too abstractly in the long-term. Everything she’s done now, she’s done for only one reason.

“To keep you safe. And the rest of the Black Eagles,” she says honestly. 

“That’s… thank you. We all appreciate it, even if we don't always say it, but what do you _want_?”

“...What do you want, Dorothea?”

She hums a note at the non-answer but spares her further questioning. “I’d like to sing again. Perform, truly. Reestablish Mittelfrank or make something entirely new. And I'd like to see Brigid, I think. Meet Petra’s grandfather and her people.”

That's a lot, but Byleth imagines she is more than capable, if she truly puts her mind to it. “I think you could.”

“What, take a boat to Brigid? I don't imagine it would be too difficult.”

“Make a place for yourself. While still supporting Petra.”

“It’s a nice thought,” Dorothea says. And it is. The kind of grounding thing to keep you going from battle to battle.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. When they return to camp, Edelgard is gone, having closed herself in her tent in complete isolation. There’s not much to be done about it and Byleth isn’t looking for a fight, so she stays a reasonable distance away. She almost wishes she could offer more comfort to her, manhandle her and Dorothea into apologizing to each other.

It’s something to be considered another day, when they don't have to worry about each moment inside Empire territory easily being their last. 

* * *

“You know, me and Lin used to come here as little kids. This is in the Bergliez jurisdiction. Hide and seek in a fort? It's wild.”

“There are many nooks you can cram yourself into and take a nap, I'd say,” Linhardt says, yawning. “Might be too big for that now. Stay on the lookout, though.”

Fort Merceus looms ahead. 

Caspar’s light words don't hide the world of tension that's built up in the group as they march closer and closer. 

“Can you name the forest here?” Leonie asks, getting a few strained huffs of amusement from the lot of them. “I can give you a hint. Starts with an ‘M’ and ends with an ‘s.’” 

His face hardens in concentration. “Mars? No, Wait–”

“We’re going to First _Merceus_ and you said _Mars_?!”

It's a weak ploy to alleviate the tension, but for once Byleth thinks it's entirely necessary. “Planetary bodies aside,” She turns to the rest of them, the darkness of night casting them all under the shade of the treeline. “Are you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” Ferdinand says, his eyes sunken low into his face. He certainly hasn't slept either, the gnawing anxiety growing to an apex before the battle. But they're here now. And they'll survive. She considers saying as much, but decides better of it. Best not to invite in misfortune. 

Edelgard grunts an acknowledgement and the rest of them fall into line. 

Their assailing force is met by the first group of mages patrolling the first walls. But… they aren't only the Church, or even Adrestian soldiers. The dark robes are familiar, and not immediately of any recognizable faction.

But Byleth knows them, knows that dark uniform. As do a portion of the Black Eagles. Agarthians have infiltrated the fortress. This can’t mean anything good. 

All measures of stealth are entirely ignored by Edelgard, who lights up with a brutal fierceness when she comes to the same realization as the rest of them, almost gleefully ripping through them with her axe before they can all properly react.

“They’re here,” she says, a manic glint to her voice as her shoulders rise and fall in heavy breaths. She’s terrifying. “Finally. _Finally._ "

“I'm staying with her,” Byleth says immediately. _As to prevent her from doing anything damning_ , she wants to say. But the sentiment easily gets across. Dorothea looks away but the others tighten their grips on their weapons and nod.

“I’ll go with you,” Marianne says quietly. “You’ll need a healer.”

Byleth flexes her arm, a wisp of healing magic curling around it. “I can handle it.”

“Not if _you_ get hurt,” Marianne frowns, persisting.

“We can't afford to waste much more time– Marianne, go with the Professor,” Ferdinand looks bashful for trying to pull rank like that, but obviously the ends justify the means. Byleth won't contest this. He's right, they do need to keep moving. She gives him a curt nod before breaking away from the main party to catch up to Edelgard.

Between the two of them, they make quick work of the patrols circling the exterior of the fort while Marianne follows a few steps behind. Edelgard’s eyes catch on Byleth’s shoulder in the few moments between destruction. The few sharp digs of pain she gets are easily enough overlooked when she still renders hard results as they force their way through the fortress. 

She’s paying less attention than she should, evidently, when Marianne finishes a soldier with her ice magic to stay at their pace, brushing off the lingering frost on her skirt and frowning. “Professor?”

Byleth looks away, shaking her head. “C’mon, we can’t lose sight of Edelgard.”

Marianne frowns but acquiesces, hurrying along after her. 

They’re loosely orbiting around the route to the commander, Byleth realizes. If she can push Edelgard through the correct corridors, theoretically they could meet up with the rest of the force and clean out the rest of the fortress together. 

She runs up to run toe-to-toe with her, shoving the first soldier rightwards towards the open room ahead. Edelgard doesn’t protest or hesitate, following her lead easily and finishing the job before moving on to the next victim. Marianne closes up the rear with a shot of Thoron to finish up. 

Byleth turns off into the larger room, heart lifting when she spots the familiar sight of Caspar and Petra holding their own against the Adrestian soldiers ahead. Behind them, blasts of magic sound as the rest of their unit spills out into the conflict, effectively cleaning the place out in a matter of seconds. The lapse in action barely lasts more than a moment before even more soldiers come spilling out into the open room. 

Edelgard comes charging out after them, and Byleth waves Marianne ahead while she circles around to find Ferdinand amidst the action. It’s not too difficult, weaving between their force to find him pushing back two heavily armored Fortress Knights from gaining on the rest of them. Byleth lights up the first one with a swift _Bolganone_ , finishing the one Ferdinand had injured decently enough with some weaker fire magic. 

He nods a quick thanks, relief flooding into his eyes as he turns to her. “There are more pockets of those mages, I can’t–” an arrow flies too close for comfort and they both duck down behind a corner while their allies provide cover fire. “I can’t get a solid read on what’s going on. I don’t _think_ they’re here under Adrestian command, or Rhea’s. They’re planning something specific. Do you..?”

Byleth wracks her brain for a moment, before coming to a terrible conclusion. “Is there any way they knew Edelgard would be here?”

He balks, taking a moment to blink and recollect his thoughts. “Jeritza..?”

“I don’t–” Her thoughts are drowned out by a blast of fire magic lighting up the corridor. “We need to go, I’ll– As soon as the enemy is down, we need to leave. Something isn’t right.”

He nods easily at that. “And we– _shit,_ where’s Edelgard?”

She freezes, scanning the hallway and then around the corner at the courtyard. Their allies are forcing their way forward, but Edelgard isn’t in sight. “I’m leaving. See you on the other side.”

He dips his head. “I’ll see you there.”

She bolts in the direction she thinks she had last seen Edelgard in, dipping back into the enclosed hallways and away from the rest of the team. Worrying, the farther away she gets without catching any sight of her. 

Unluckily for a small unit of Agarthian mages, they turn the corner to fall right before her. With limited results already, she lets out a frustrated noise and plunges her sword in the first man’s chest, lighting her hand with fire magic to ensure he stays down. She moves on to the other one next, ready to make a similar example of him. 

The mage rips off the mask before she can cleave her sword straight through him, and the realization hits so hard she stumbles trying to overcorrect her move.

“Hubert,” she breathes out.

He’s older, his hair cropped back as to not obscure his face so much. Gaunter, in some ways, but with more scars to show for it, visible even with the high neckline of his robes. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I can't let you kill me. There's… there's so much left to do. I have to–” 

“You're alive.” It should feel more monumental than it is.

“I– yes. I am.”

“Ferdinand–” She starts, only to be immediately shut down.

“I can't,” he swallows. “I can't think about Ferdinand right now. Edelgard was– _is_ my top priority. I have to go on, for _her._ Her dream couldn't be reality and I will extinguish all those that caused that.”

“Hubert, you are… you're more than this.”

“I know about you. I know how you've taken her name, her banner, and you're using it only for yourself. You'll have to come to terms with her death too, soon enough. You and the rest of your Black Eagles.”

“You're a fool,” Byleth says. “A grieving fool. She's here.”

“To insult me and _lie_ to my face is a cowardice upon itself–”

Divine magic responds to her call, and Byleth is pulled back to the early battle, back by Edelgard’s side. “We have to go.”

Edelgard disregards her entirely, the bloodthirst shining in her eyes. “ _No_ , they're here, finally. I can rip them to shreds for their– ”

In her desperation, she grabs Edelgards shoulders and forces her to look Byleth in the eyes. The sudden movement must have come as something of a shock, because she doesn't try to fight it. “Hubert’s alive. He's alive, and you have to choose between saving him and killing these mages. Are you just a bloodthirsty monster or–”

“I– Take me to him. If this is… No,” Edelgard shakes her head, clarity striking and her bloodlust waning. “You cannot lie to me. Not about…”

“Follow,” Byleth commands, tightening her grip on her sword to force a path forward. The rest of the company yells out in protest, but she disregards them. This– this has to be done. They’ll come back for Merceus, if it comes to that. 

With the rest of their forces split between taking down the commander and looting the war rooms, the bulk of the enemy troops are away. Any of the few strays that get in their way are easily surmountable between the two of them. She recognizes the right doorframe when they come to it, taking a moment to size up the closed door before hip-checking the solid wood. It shudders but doesn't give.

She nods to Edelgard. “Something’s up against the door.”

Edelgard doesn’t even take a moment’s hesitation before rending the wood into pieces with the shiny lip of her new axeblade. The blade is sharp and lethal, even for its nonliving victims. She tears through the… bookshelf, or what’s left of it, granting them entry deeper in the fortress. 

With another curt nod, she leads them deeper inside, finally to the courtyard she recognizes. The soldiers are rushedly preparing for battle, shouting orders to each other as they throw their armor on. She blinks at them in the bright sunlight, balking, before Edelgard yanks her out of it as they start to notice their presence. 

“Right!” Byleth yells, shoving her weight against the door to push it open. “Here!”

She pushes it back closed as the soldiers outside catch up to them, pulling the manual lock over the handle to force it closed. They won’t be able to get it open until they figure out they need force. Which, unfortunately for them, won’t be too long at this pace. 

The maze of corridors is familiar, though, so they have that at least. Byleth rushes forward, turning the corner to find them both face to face with two mages hunched over a desk in what looks to be.. an office of some kind.

Even in the drab and uniform robes, Byleth doesn't have much trouble picking Hubert out again. 

“Mask off, please,” Byleth throws up a hand, a shock of lightning searing past him to paralyze the other mage. She makes similar work of them as she had the first time, pulling her sword clean out of their chest just in time to face Hubert.

He recoils, black magic gathering at his palms before it sputters out as his gaze lands on Edelgard. 

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert says, quiet and private, almost like a prayer.

Byleth can see Edelgard’s heart stutter and stop. “H– Hubert?”

“I…” He turns to Byleth. “We need to leave. All of us. Right _now_.”

“What do you–”

“Don’t worry about me. Get as far from here as possible.”

Dark magic flares up around them both, and in seconds they’re outside the walls of the fortress, blinking in the bright sunlight.

Quickly, quicker than anyone Byleth believes could _move_ through that damn fortress, the other Black Eagles are teleported out. 

“That was... Goddess,” Ferdinand rolls off his horse ungracefully, dropping his lance to the ground. “Was that..?”

Bernadetta comes up behind him, tripping and tumbling down into a trembling ball of anxiety.

Byleth nods. “Hubert’s alive, he’s in there and he’s alive. Linhardt–”

“Shush,” he says, and he turns and crouches over by Bernadetta. “Faith magic. Focus on yourself and focus on Hubert.”

“I can do this,” she whispers.

“You can do this,” he reaffirms. “He has a very distinct magic pattern. Just trust your instincts.”

Caspar and Leonie blitz back in a single moment, Lysithea following close behind, the dark magic gathered around her dissipating as she trips and falls into the grass, yelling curses. 

“You can do this Bernie, c’mon, _c’mon–”_ Faith magic radiates from her, similar to Linhardt’s own transportation spells. But no one around them dissipates. Instead, Bernadetta reaches out into the empty air, clenches a fist, and _yanks_ it back with a harsh ferocity. 

Hubert rips through space to fall before them, looking the most confused she’s ever seen him.

“Hubert!” she drops the magic to jump down and tackle him into a hug.

“Ah,” he coughs, something with too much wetness behind it to mean anything good. Bernadetta pulls back, the burst of confidence at her success swiftly waning. “I– I was going to…”

Edelgard looks down at him, the shadows obscuring her darkened face into something unreadable. 

He wipes away the blood from his lips and bows his head. “My lady.”

She wipes her own face, and though her eyes are hidden behind smears of blood and gore, Byleth swears she’s crying. 

“I–” Her voice breaks and she kneels down to wrap her arms around him. “I'm sorry. I'm… I'm so sorry. I thought I had k– ”

Her voice is drowned out by the earth’s shuddering as magic rains down on the fort. Everyone recoils, some of them falling over as the ground beneath them heaves with the force of the missiles. All Byleth can do is watch as the mighty building is reduced to dust and ruins in moments. 

It takes a moment for the ringing in her ears to calm, but when it does, she turns back, opening her mouth to address the rest of them before getting interrupted by Linhardt leaping down to Hubert’s side. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Linhardt crouches down, waving Marianne over. “Stay with us here.”

Edelgard jumps back, crossing her arms tightly. “Is he..?”

“Magic overuse,” Linhardt explains shortly. Marianne nods, unfolding a small handkerchief to dab at the blood collecting in the recesses under his chin. 

“It’s… completely devastated,” Dorothea says in a low voice. “By the Goddess–”

Leonie shakes her head, disbelief plain on her face as her grip tightens on the length of her bow. “What are we up against..?”

“We…” Caspar shakes his head. “We need to get moving. There might be more where that came from.”

Byleth curses. “You're right. We can't take the risk. Everyone, on me.”

“It’s them,” Lysithea says. “I can't prove it from here but I _know_ , Professor. It’s them.”

Jeritza removes his mask, looking conflicted about speaking up, but ultimately agreeing. “They had been working on long-distance missiles for Edelgard. And that certainly wasn’t divine magic.”

“This changes nothing,” Edelgard says, shaking her head and somehow mustering her usual attitude, amidst all of this. “They have always known my intent. And if they had the power for a second wave, we would already be dead.”

She’s not… wrong there, per se, but not entirely right. 

Hubert coughs again, his voice rough as he tries to speak around heaving breaths. “They're desperate. They know– they know their end is nearing, with Rhea in such close proximity. And they knew you were coming.”

“So they decided to sacrifice the entire fortress..?”

“Edelgard knows too well of their existence,” he says, and she scoffs at that. 

“At their own folly.”

He smiles. “That is certainly true, my lady.”

“Ferdinand,” Byleth calls, startling him out of his silent stupor. “You ride with Hubert.”

“I– of course,” He falters for a moment, his hands shaking. She extends her own as a comfort, but he turns away before she can. He straps his lance to his horse’s saddle and helps Linhardt sit Hubert up without a word, betraying the worst of his mixed emotions on his face silently, under a thin veneer of neutrality. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you know bernadetta can learn rescue at high enough faith? thank you fired emblem dot fandom dot wikia com
> 
> more seriously, I hope none of you thought I was going to murk hubert!!! i didn't tag major character death BUT I won't add his character tag until after this update sooo ;) we're gonna hit some major plot beats in the next chapter and probably close out the story!! there is a lot of unspoken stuff that's been ?? sorta implied ?? so I hope it will read that way!
> 
> as always, if you liked this please kudos and comment! i am a golden retriever for that shit. tumblr @renvember if you want to yell about fe with me!

**Author's Note:**

> djdhjf okay so i was listening to daniel in the den and thought “if only i got this release with wlw… ” and then realized i have two hands and a laptop so i can make it happen. sorry for being on hiatus for so long! depression hit, school got a little overwhelming, then this fic possessed me and i spent two months Only writing this. still another 10k to post and even more to write. this has absorbed my soul
> 
> shout out to my sweet best friend evie for bearing with me while i obsessed over this au!! #1 beta and homie. have a kiss goodnight ;*
> 
> oop and i forgot to plug earlier but i have a tumblr @renvember. if you enjoyed please leave a kudos and a comment!! i read all of them and the serotonin is delicious


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